Age of Gold
by James Stoker
Summary: The Doctor takes an incredible risk to tick off something on his bucket list, and unwittingly sets off a chain of events which will change the fortunes of millions of children. An adventure with many twists and a sense of humour that belies the complexity of the world building and the gravitas of the situations, with unfolding significance for the greater Doctor Who universe.
1. Bucket List

Secrecy promises a degree of containment when one is terminally ill. It spares the family the words that will break their hearts until a sallowing face reveals the truth. But secrecy offers the patient no such comfort when he is young, particularly when he suspects he is being slowly and methodically poisoned.

Jason poked his head around the doorway into the learning hall. His beautiful Sophia sat quietly waiting for him, meditating upon his father's gardens and grain fields through the small-paned windows.

They had only recently grown close. His undisclosed weakness was making it increasingly difficult to ride and he had ended up face down in a ditch. She had jumped off her horse to help him, demure, self-contained, considerate in every way, and disciplined as one tends to be when one grows up with horses. Horses on the whole are much better behaved than human beings.

"You should be studying," he remarked with a grin as he approached.

"I'm thinking. I have to chew the facts up to keep them in."

"Are you saying my father's curriculum is indigestible?"

She smiled. "If I can keep it down until the exam tomorrow, I'll be happy."

Jason sat down at the adjacent desk and raised its screen. It scanned him and replied silently with shining glyphs.

"Welcome, Jason, son of Avram. What do you wish to study?"

Sophia leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek and turned back to her own display.

Jason's eyes struggled to focus. They were noticeably worse. Perhaps it was time to share his suspicion. In the wan glow of the screen, his failing vision teared up and the words, "Sophia, I think I'm being poisoned," formed on his tongue. Then he remembered that palace walls have ears, especially in the learning hall.

"Well, look at you two."

Avram entered the hall, and beamed at his unexpected discovery.

"You do realise that study is no cover for a tryst when the hall is otherwise empty? In fact, I'd call it a dead giveaway."

Sophia smiled again. Jason laughed but she noticed he wiped his eyes with his fingers before he turned to face his father.

Avram wore his regal robe, a midnight blue bordered thickly and tasseled with shimmering gold. Its glory flowed naturally from the traditional gold markings on his forehead and under his eyes. He stretched out his arms and turned on the spot.

"What do you think?

"Sir, I think you are the wisest and most loving king who ever lived," answered Jason, with his head bowed. Avram lowered his arms and tilted his head. He said softly,

"That may be, but in teaching I have learned much from you all. Every heart is a different book, opened only to the discerning eye…"

Jason lifted his gaze to his father's eyes. It quickly shifted to the almond-shaped eye painted in gold across Avram's forehead. He placed his hand on Jason's shoulder and added,

"...or by great trial.

Tomorrow is your big day, young lord and lady. My prayers are that you will attain to the Golden Age. However, I am quite confident that I have not had my garments prepared in vain."

Avram, though he was their king, bowed to the seated youths, then withdrew, whistling something ancient and joyous, much like himself. He didn't really need the robes. He was always shining on the inside somehow, no matter what the occasion.

But so much for tomorrow. Jason remembered the grave words he must share today. He lifted Sophia's hand and put a finger to his lips. With her ready quill he inscribed her wrist with,

"Sophia, I think I'm being poisoned…"

She looked at him in disbelief. So he added,

"…by my brothers."

.

.

A millennium later, something else whistled through the air of the planet Protos, but the occasion was not a joyous one. The Doctor was alone at the helm of a capsule which, he was discovering, did not even possess the one redeeming feature for which he had bought it.

He was wearing a helmet and peering awkwardly through radiation goggles designed for an entirely different-shaped species, gripping the shuddering joystick with one hand and yelling into the understated wristwatch on the other.

"Cla-ra! Can you … hear me? I don't think this piece of junk is going to hold up. It sounds like it's going to fall apart … before I enter the atmosphere!"

At home in her kitchen, Clara's hands were also busy, concealed in oven mitts. She replied through the mic of an odd-looking headset obviously cobbled together in a hurry by the Doctor.

"Doctor, didn't you tell me it was supposed to fall apart? Wasn't that the plan?"

The so-called "capsule" was in fact the most nonchalant-looking piece of space junk the Doctor had been able to find in the floating salvage yard of one Hatfoot of the Velvet Underbelly, a man who was suspected to provide "many helpful services" to desperate beings.

The plan was to evade detection by the legendary protectors of the planet Protos, or in other words, to land without being shot at, blown up or arrested. Burning up on entry was the perfect cover, but it was becoming apparent that this piece of junk really was a piece of junk.

"Can't you teleport out of there or something?"

"I could, but then I'd be detected. It's the same reason I couldn't bring the TARDIS."

"What will you do?"

"I'll just have to jump a bit early."

"Was this really worth it, Doctor?"

"Well, Protos is on my bucket list. You know I can't resist a mystery." There was a loud bang, and the sound of rushing flames. "Feeling … pretty … stupid … now."

By now, Clara was in a panic, staring out the window into the night sky of the wrong planet as if she might catch a glimpse of the Doctor's very own shooting star.

The Doctor managed to say, "Can't … speak … any more. Activating … dive suit."

And then the line went dead.

Clara wrapped her arms around herself and sat down. What else was there to do?The Doctor had explained everything, and giving Clara a running commentary on every possible moment of this excursion was the only condition upon which she would agree to stay behind. Now she almost wished she hadn't heard anything.

Though she didn't know his entire history, this recklessness seemed a little out of character, even for the Doctor. She sensed there might be something on the horizon which only he could see.


	2. Dawn Light

The capsule disintegrated only a minute after the Doctor jumped ship, and with a childlike glee he was watching its many parts burn up above and around him like tiny meteors. As it turned out, this was the perfect cover for his descent. And it was a good thing that he was also wearing the perfect suit. Never lose track of a good tailor, especially one who is not only friendly and competent, but also good with heat, pressure and micrometeoroid resistant fabrics.

.

.

A few minutes later, now standing in a field of very tall wheat, the Doctor hurriedly removed his dive suit, bundled it up in his parachute and set about hiding it as best he could.

He decided that criminals were not the brightest bulbs in any civilisation. If the bouncers of Protos had indeed spotted him, they could track down Hatfoot without too much trouble. The small silver chute had HATFOOT SPARE PARTS painted across it in large fluoro orange letters.

At least his supersonic space jump was more accurate than the TARDIS was likely to be. The Doctor had landed not only in the correct year, and merely minutes before what looked to be a spectacular day of sunshine, but he was standing only a few hundred yards from his intended destination.

The tiny lights of civilisation, or at least the fires and smoke of an encampment, twinkled off to the east. The Doctor shivered and rubbed his arms against the cold, straightened his bow tie, adjusted his backpack, and began pushing his way through the wheat towards the torchlights ahead of him to the west.

Based on the little information he had been able to gather from a distance, these were the markers of the tomb of Avram, fashioner of worlds, craftsman of dynasties, keeper of secrets, and owner of a planet so laced with veins of gold that it almost bled the stuff. No wonder it was protected.

"Clara, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Doctor! Are you alright?"

"According to my calculations, your cake is burning."

He was right.

.

.

Deimos and Phoebe, a boy and a girl, both apparently around the age of twelve, were sword fighting with gold painted sticks at the entry to the tomb. Those weren't their real names. They were the roles they were filling. Standing in for the ancient guardians of the tomb of the great father, but with no one from whom to defend it, they practised on each other. The click-clack of parried blows echoed in the flickering torchlight.

They suddenly stopped, sensing somebody approaching from the east, a silhouette with the vapour of his breath visible before the rising sun. As they stared, the glory of dawn exploded behind him.

"Who goes there?" they called out in unison.

"Don't be afraid. I'm just a tourist."

"What's a tourist?" Phoebe asked her twin.

"We don't get visitors around here," Deimos responded. "Did you come down in the shooting stars?"

The Doctor used a question to quickly change the subject.

"Why aren't you two home in bed? Aren't you a bit young to be doing guard duty?"

"It's sort of a rite of passage, an honour, a tradition," retorted Deimos.

"It's the only tradition. And it gets us out of collecting food today," admitted Phoebe.

The building itself was a small ziggurat which appeared to be covered in hammered gold. It was now shimmering in the dawn light, but when he squinted, the Doctor could see that it was also covered in what appeared to be graffiti.

"Are you the protectors of the tomb, then?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes we are, at least for today." Deimos pointed a stick at him.

"So, are you going to stop me having a peek inside?"

The children looked at each other, then back to the Doctor.

"No, not at all. We've always wondered what's inside!"

"That's a relief. Normally there are guards or booby traps or something. Do you think there's a booby trap?"

"Nobody ever comes here. Nobody visits Protos."

The Doctor noticed the detail of the children's tunics, visible beneath their fur coats. They were embroidered with what appeared to be gold thread. Both of them wore numerous, roughly-fashioned necklaces and bracelets of gold. Both of them had golden beads braided through their hair. Yet their feet were bare and they were dirty from top to toe. Perhaps the most striking detail was the golden dot painted or tattooed just beneath each of their eyes.

"Clara, I've found the tomb. The inhabitants are really low-tech, but you won't believe the amount of bling the kids wear around here."

.

.

The doors were made of solid gold. Either no expense had been spared or there really were no other materials available when the tomb was constructed. Gold is soft, but gold is heavy and non-corrosive. And on Protos, gold was everywhere.

The door mechanism, however, was surprisingly high tech, as the Doctor had expected, and it only took him a few minutes to find the right frequency with his sonic screwdriver, a gadget which the children eyed off keenly. He put it in his inside pocket just in case they were skilled at collecting things other than food.

After some humming and scraping, the doors were retracted to reveal a narrow passageway with stairs leading down into darkness.

The children offered to bring one of their fire torches, but the Doctor strapped a metal band containing a torch to his forehead, an arrangement which looked as hurriedly conceived as the device through which he now communicated with Clara.

"In we go, Clara! If I'd thought of it I could have included video. Doctor-CAM…"

"I don't know if that would be better or worse, Doctor. You're really embarrassing in front of a camera, especially CCTV."

"Who's that you're talking to?" asked Phoebe.

"That's my minder. She's a beautiful guardian angel, just like you. She's a long way away but she worries about me. Just like your father and mother worry about you."

The children looked at each other, blankly.

The Doctor frowned.

"Oh dear. Well, like you look after each other."

That seemed to make more sense to them.

"Okay then, lets get on with it."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Clara.

"To quote an old friend of mine, stealing ideas from contemporaries is rude and tasteless, but stealing ideas from the long dead is considered literary and admirable."

"What?"

"The same is true of grave-robbing. Loot your local cemetery and find yourself mired in social awkwardness. But unearth the tomb of an ancient king and you can feel free to pocket his toe rings. You'll probably end up on a book tour, or bagging an honorary degree or two."

The Doctor walked around the building, checking for surveillance, then stood in the doorway looking down the passage. He turned to the children.

"I'll walk on ahead, and you two keep guard. If anything nasty happens, perhaps let somebody know — you know, the authorities. Actually, on second thought, perhaps don't tell anyone — especially the authorities. If nothing nasty happens, I'll call on you to come down and check it out. Don't ever do anything like this on your own, ever."

The children, now bright-eyed, looked at each other once again and grinned. As far as they were concerned, this was the best day of their lives. And anyhow, if they were ever going to do anything like this on their own, they would most certainly do it together.

The sky was now a burgeoning study in red and gold. The Doctor gave it one last glance and disappeared.

The children stood obediently in the doorway, more out of excitement and fear than anything else. In the dawn light, neither they nor the Doctor had noticed the triple flashes pulsing silently from the peak of the ziggurat, signalling into the chilled morning air, and beyond.


	3. Ballroom

The Doctor's blue-white torchlight led him down to what appeared to be an observation deck, a room of silver-grey flagstone with a large circular portal in every wall. It seemed that the small ziggurat was just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, buried slowly, or perhaps deliberately, beneath the quiet surface.

Of course, the only view the windows now offered was a cross section of Protoan rock fill. Even at this level, the soil glittered and shone with the element which under normal circumstances would have seen the planet hollowed out or even entirely consumed.

"Doctor, are you there?"

"Yes! … Sorry. Perhaps put the radio on or something, to remind me I'm not alone. Something suitable from your 1930's or 40's."

"In a minute. What are you doing?"

"Besides the burning question of who owns and protects this planet, I'm wondering why it is being left fallow? There are wheat fields that look like they've been untended for a few generations. The population seems to have degenerated to the point where farming has been abandoned for daily gathering."

"No, I mean what's inside the tomb. I'm worried about you."

"Well, sorry to bore you with my workings. I'll just give you my answers, if I find any. And if there are any answers to be found, they lie beneath the surface. Nothing yet, so I'll keep digging."

Remembering what had inspired his research into Protos and its secrets, the Doctor pulled up his left sleeve. He had written seven lines of prose on the inside of his forearm. He knew them by heart, but seeing it written in the ancient glyphs somehow gave the text the gravitas it deserved.

Clara was unnerved by the pause.

"What are you doing now?"

"Wishing there was an elevator. I'll tell you as soon I find anything worth writing home about. And don't forget the music."

The stairs continued their corkscrew descent from the other side of the room, and the explorer emerged into a larger space, judging by its acoustics.

While using his screwdriver to check once again for unseen security measures, the Doctor surveyed the dark chamber by torchlight. Something at its centre immediately reflected the beam. It was a large golden orb, about two yards in diameter, suspended by invisible means between the ceiling and the floor, both of which were marked with a random network of straight, golden lines. These reminded the Doctor of the "ley lines" which he had seen on ancient maps of many planets, including his favourite, the Earth. Every convergence of two lines was marked with a golden circle, or node, and the mass of each network converged right above and right below the sphere.

As the Doctor approached it, he could hear a deep, pulsing hum, and an almost imperceptible whistle. He reached out his hand to touch the globe, but drew it back in a sudden moment of fear. The air immediately around its surface warned him that the object was spinning, quite imperceptibly, yet at a frightening speed. This should have generated some heat, or a least a greater level of noise.

With a start, the Doctor also realised that, perhaps due to his proximity, the speed of the orb's rotation seemed to be slowing down. Was he imagining it? Better to go with one's gut feeling in such situations. As he retreated slowly to the wall behind him, he became surer of the decreasing speed. The orb now seemed closer to the floor, the deep hum seemed less deep, and the whistle could now be heard clearly. The upper and lower frequencies were modulating towards each other, presumably to meet in the middle at a single tone. As he cocked his ear towards it, the familiar stomp of Benny Carter's big band began piping through his headset. For the Doctor, it transformed the chamber into a sort of art deco dance floor with a descending mirror ball that might explode at any second.

"Doctor, what was that strange noise?"

"Well, I can't hear it now, can I, because you put the music on?!"

"Shall I turn it off again?"

"No, it's kind of cool. We can just shout for three minutes. It's a big, shiny, spinny ball thing, and it's lowering itself to the floor."

"Is it a bomb?"

"I doubt it. If it really is the giant Christmas bauble of death, it's not designed very well. I've had plenty of time to run."

"Why aren't you running?"

"I don't know. It might be just what I'm looking for. If it is, I want you to stop asking 'Are we there yet?', go to where I parked the TARDIS, and put in the coordinates I gave you."

"Why didn't you just land the TARDIS in the tomb?"

"Already tried that. The old girl's no fool. She won't land anywhere she can't see, and this place is shielded somehow. Of course, it's different now that I'm in here. She'll follow her man anywhere."

The twin tones had now reached an eerie musical fifth which gave an alien quality to 'Swinging the Blues.'

"And what if it isn't what you're looking for?"

"Then the breakfast mess might clutter the rest of the day."

"I think you should get out of there. And don't forget the food I packed you."

"Yep. Right now, I'm thinking of snacks. Wait on, it looks like it's done."

The great golden globe was now on the floor. Its decreased rotation meant that the Doctor could make out lines engraved into its surface which resembled the ones on the ceiling and the floor. Added to this, the room was no longer dark. A dim, warm light was now shining from a circular light in each flagstone wall. A large, ornately carved dining setting was now apparent. It was scattered with decaying charts or plans, and some golden instruments whose exact purpose was unfamiliar to him. And there was an antique high-backed leather armchair in one corner, and an ashtray on a pedestal.

This was the strangest nightclub the Doctor had ever seen, and he didn't like the look of his dance partner. He walked to the chair and sat with his legs crossed, staring at the ball with a frown. He was still tapping his foot in nervous anticipation, but at least he was now tapping in time with the music.

Benny's brass really kicked in as the globe began to open like some giant's fob watch. Along the equivalent of its equator, a clinical blue glow became visible, and then the form of a man, lying flat with his arms outstretched. He was clothed in something like white linen, much like the Doctor's own antiquated thermal underwear, and surrounded by a mass of silver tubes, wires and pipes.

"Clara, the ball is over and I think it's time to meet the host."

"Really?"

The Doctor was kneeling over the open globe, checking the vital signs of its precious passenger.

"Time to get you on board now, so why don't you pop on over?"

"Can't wait! Should I bring something to celebrate?"

"Anything. Anything except the cake."


	4. Seed Capital

Avram opened his eyes, blinked, and squinted.

The golden eye on his forehead reflected the Doctor's torchlight.

"My apologies," offered the Doctor, and removed his headband.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor. I hope I didn't wake you."

"I don't need a doctor, but your bedside manner is a sign of good intentions." The king's voice was deep and musical, almost operatic.

He sat up.

"What time is it?"

"Time for breakfast I suppose."

Avram raised an eyebrow. Catching his drift, the Doctor added,

"Or … at least a thousand years since you went to sleep? The rumours of your death have been circulating for quite a while now."

"I know. Help me out."

The old man was surprisingly vigorous. With the Doctor's aid he almost jumped out of the hemisphere, and the orb closed behind him.

"Can I get you anything?"

Avram placed his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Your suggestion of breakfast was a good one. And I'm sure you have questions. I sense you will be delightful company. But first let me find more suitable attire."

Avram made his way to a concealed cabinet and donned an ornately decorated house robe and slippers of gilded leather.

The Doctor removed from his backpack the sandwiches and vacuum flask of tea Clara had packed for him. He stood at the table and waited respectfully for Avram to join him. The king seated himself at the head, and the Doctor served him a single round of beef and tomato on rye and a cup of steaming English breakfast.

"Thank you, sir. Please, take a seat here to my right. Even if all of my children and servants were here, the place of honour would still belong to you. Thank you for this delightful fare."

"Thank my friend Clara," said the Doctor. "I'm expecting her to arrive in my ship at any moment. I hope you don't mind the extra company."

"Not at all. Your friends are my friends, Doctor."

Avram took a swig of the tea. "Ha! Just what I needed. I guess we can get into the stronger stuff later on. I have an incredible cellar, and if it still exists, the red wines should by now be without peer. I hope you can hang around."

The Doctor raised the flask to his mouth, then leant forward with his hands together as if to request an audience. There was also the hint of a respectful request for the king to cut the small talk, and to cut to the chase.

"A man of action. I like that. No prevarication. Get straight to the point, sir!"

"Well, first up, if you don't mind me asking, what is that thing? Is it a prison?"

"It seems to have been serving as such, doesn't it? But it is in fact a seed, the seed of quite a number of planets. I named it the Protos, a tool of beginnings, and it is from the machine that this planet takes its name."

"Ha! I knew it!" The Doctor slapped his palms on the table in delight, then bit the heart out of a sandwich and leaned back. "I'm really glad I woke you up. I have about a thousand years' worth of questions for you now."

"I have some questions of my own, Doctor."

"Like, who am I?"

"No, I know who you are, and also something of your many friends."

The Doctor almost coughed up a sip of tea. "Really? How?"

"And also your enemies." He paused to let the weight of those words settle in the Doctor's mind.

"Though imprisoned, I haven't been unconscious. The Protos not only provides life support, but access to all the data in a formidable library, one which constantly updates itself from clandestine sources across the galaxies."

"What, do you mean you've been trapped in that thing reading the internet for hundreds of years?"

"No. I took regular naps as well. In one sense the combination of rest and recreation has been rather delightful. And I must also explain that the pod generates what one might call an inverse gravity bubble. The device is not only capable of sourcing and attracting the elements required to construct a planet, the extreme gravity it generates slows time down almost to a standstill for its pilot. So, it has only been the equivalent of a few months for me."

"Why does it need a pilot?"

"Constructing a planet requires careful planning but also an intricate schema of algorithms which may need adjustment during the process. Once the procedure has been initiated, much like spinning the yarn onto a cricket ball, any refinements must be executed instantly."

"You know about cricket balls?"

"Certainly. An admirable game of skill and strategy, which brings me to my next question. How did you get through the defences?"

"You might say I came down in the last shower… of meteors. I piloted some space junk."

"Well, I figured if anyone came for me it would be someone with a criminal intellect." He winked. "Or did you get some expert advice?"

The Doctor grinned. Avram was remarkably perceptive. The idea had been Hatfoot's after all.

"I prize highly the discernment of hearts, Doctor. I have begun reading the works of a famous and wise ruler of the planet Earth, King James of England. In his book of Genesis, he writes of an ancient named Jacob, a discerning man who outsmarted every serpent he came across."

The Doctor smiled. That was certainly a new interpretation, and it would ruffle the feathers of some rather conceited theologians.

"King James didn't actually write the Bible," the Doctor corrected, "but he was indeed a wise king, and a lot of fun. I was on his advisory team."

"Really, Doctor?"

"It was I who suggested he bring the Puritans on board, just to keep the clergy on their toes."

Avram laughed.

"Every ruler needs wise advisors, Doctor, confidantes who can be trusted. I raised my many children with an eye on the beauty of wisdom: not merely the task of seeing into the hearts of men, but the excellence of the craftsman, the work of the artist, and the duties of the parent. Once qualified to rule, they would attain to the Golden Age, and receive the eye of the sage."

He pointed to his forehead.

"It is a mere symbol. The foresight of the prophet's eye is nothing mystical. One studies the past that one might see the future."

"Yes, history does tend to repeat itself. Or people do."

"Knowledge is a precious thing, but without wisdom it can become a tool for tyranny. The power to create is a two-edged sword, a perennial temptation."

"And you desired that your children should carry on your work?"

"Yes, one by one. Upon graduation, each royal child would receive a planet to guard, tend and prepare for colonisation. Once the fruit of their labours was assessed, a new house would be established. The house of Protos was growing to become a civilisation of many houses."

"That sounds like the opposite of the plans I usually uncover. They don't build anything much, and if they do, it's simply a means of plundering somebody else's hard work."

"We had our enemies, too, Doctor. Some came from without, and others came from within. But there is nothing that drives advancement more than opposition, whatever the cost."

"What happened to your children?"

"It was they who trapped me inside the Protos and locked its position in this room."

Surprisingly, the Doctor was not at all surprised. He stood up, removed his jacket and rolled up one sleeve. He sat down again and presented the glyphs on his forearm to Avram, who read them aloud.

 _When the star of Protos  
calls its healing wings  
to lift up the faceless child,_

Avram turned away, and recited the final lines by heart,

 _...the dragon's silver tail  
will muster the sons of terror  
to cover every ancient house  
and obtain the age of gold._

The Doctor leaned forward, his inquisitiveness taking on the air of an inquisition.

"This text is one of the few remaining fragments of a poem discovered on a planet which I suspect you created."

"Not created, Doctor, merely copied. I was only able to duplicate established planets based upon their natural construction. For instance, I once made a copy of the Earth."

"Yes, I came across it. Can you explain what this means?"

"It's certainly mercurial. The best prophecies are always the tough ones. They are composed in veiled language to conceal their meaning from the impatient and the fiend. The seeker of wisdom must chew upon them in order to receive enlightenment. And of course, they make perfect sense in hindsight."

"Every king has his prophet. In fact, it's a job I have on my CV. Do you have any idea who might have written this, and to whom it might refer?"

There was a pause. Avram now seemed reluctant to be too forthcoming.

"You are a perspicacious man, Doctor. It appears my unexpected incarceration led to the birth of an enigma. Come with me, and let us see if we can't shed some light on the subject for both of us."


	5. Silver Tongue

The Doctor and Avram descended further into the ground. Being a ziggurat, each descent led to a larger space.

"Tell me, Avram, where did you get your technology."

"Natural gifts … obsessive research … inspiration … regular travel … discreet dealing … and many years of hard work. It was not without its trials. One might say that my journey was born of a kind of death."

"What do you mean?"

"My beginnings were nothing special. I was an aerospace engineer on my planet of origin, with plans to become a pioneer. Through no fault of my own, I lost my employment, and my wife Ribqah and I were living in poverty. We lost our only child, a daughter, due to the harsh conditions, and I blamed myself."

As they made their way down the final few stairs, double doors opened before them.

"This is the king's court, the scene of many a deep discussion and much robust debate."

They entered a great hall with high ceilings, every surface adorned with elaborate patterns and gilded carvings. Yet there were subtle signs of technology, such as the understated but advanced means of lighting, which activated upon their entry. The entire wall at one end was a great curtain, embroidered with planets, stars, beasts and men.

"Please return to your story," asked the Doctor.

Avram paused just inside the hall, and continued,

"I walked the city alone for many weeks, even contemplating suicide. Then one day my life was changed by a profound incident, an epiphany."

"Do tell."

The Doctor followed Avram to the centre of the chamber while he explained.

"As I stood by the river, I felt as though I were suspended several feet above the ground, enclosed in a white sphere of light. A voice spoke directly to me."

"What did it say?"

"'From now on you must be fearless in your search for truth. You need never await temporal attestation to your thought. You do not have the right to eliminate yourself. You do not belong to yourself but to the Universe. Your significance will remain forever obscure to you, but you may assume that you are fulfilling your role if you employ your years for the conversion of your experiences to the highest advantage of others.' And that was it."

"Do you know who it was who spoke to you?"

"A god. A guardian. Perhaps both. Of course, that led to a radical re-examination of my life, and also to the feats of engineering, the joys and glories, and the tragedies, which have followed."

"Interesting. I have one further question," asked the Doctor, with his gaze inspecting the room and one finger lifted in the air. "Since you are so advanced, why does this building have stairs?"

"Ah, good question! Elevators make one fat. Stairs keep one trim — and humble — in both mind and body." After a deep chortle, Avram lifted his head and barked, "Display!"

Immediately, the two men were separated by wide tubes of blue light, arranged in a perfect circle, about twenty in all, each reaching from the ceiling to the floor.

"Welcome to the Circle of Artefacts, the place where my students come to meditate upon their history."

.

.

The TARDIS landed without a hitch, and Clara entered a chamber criss-crossed with golden lines. A large golden orb commanded the room from the centre. She couldn't see the Doctor, but realised she was still wearing the communications headset. She was about to hail him when she noticed two children, decked in gold, sitting at the dining suite, their fur coats hung over the backs of the chairs. They were munching on the chocolate cookies which she herself had baked.

"Hello there."

"Hello." They said in unison.

"Are you Clara?" asked Phoebe.

"Yes, I am."

"The Doctor said if we waited here for you we could have these cakes," said Deimos, his voice almost identical to Phoebe's but slightly deeper. "He's downstairs with Avram."

There was a pause while Clara took it all in.

"He's the man we thought was dead."

"Oh. What are your names?" asked Clara, who thought it best to draw on her previous experience with children. They looked at each other, as if to make a decision.

"I'm Deimos and she's Phoebe."

"Nice to meet you. Shall we all go downstairs, then?"

"He said to wait."

"And he said not to interrupt him."

"Oh. Great. I get to do the babysitting."

Clara sat down and took hold of a cookie.

"These are pretty good, aren't they?"

She decided the best use of her time would be to see if she could get the children to laugh, perhaps with a story or two about the Doctor.

.

.

From inside the circle, Avram led the Doctor in a slow procession around the cylinders of light, pausing to explain the holographic content of each one.

"This is my home planet, Shabar." The image was a silver globe dotted with lights, rotating peacefully in the benevolent orbit of a single sun. "Its glory days have passed, but its civilisation is still a mighty force for good. The benefits of our endeavours are still felt right across its galaxy."

The next cylinder presented a series of slow motion captures of a young man growing old, engaged in various pursuits.

"This represents much of my life. I could switch on the commentary for you, but I doubt you have the desire for detail required by our conventional visitors. And I have covered the basics already."

The next montage described the life of a woman with a knowing face and remarkable red hair. Since the two men stood on either side of the beam, to the Doctor her momentary laughter was projected onto the mournful visage of the king.

"My wife, Ribqah. She died during the birth of our seventh son. I was unable to save her. Our lives, our minds, our bodies, our ambitions, were so intertwined, only death could part them. I think about her every minute of every day."

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor. He waited patiently while Avram bowed his head and walked to the next exhibit, but when his eyes moved from the king to the display he stopped with a start. A silver being appeared in the light, a giant at least 8 foot tall. It was humanoid, but built of glistening mail and shining panels of armour. Its helmet resembled the head of a dragon, a theme extended to metal claws on its hands and feet. Silver plates extended in a line from a crest on its head, down its spine to the end of a long, coiled tail. The plates themselves were round and bone-like, more similar to an actual spine than the bony defences of a stegosaurus. Their details glittered in the blue light of the beam.

"That was unexpected," the Doctor remarked, trying to hide the true height of his surprise.

"This is Draco, an android designed by myself and constructed to administer the mental, physical and judicial examinations of our students."

"Impressive."

"In this life, everyone has at least one dragon to outmanoeuvre, Doctor, so it might as well begin with the safety of a beast on the leash of the king. Outwitting Draco became one of the favourite pastimes of our graduates."

"I must say, it's a rather brilliant idea, but wouldn't he scare the children?"

"Certainly, but the children loved to be frightened. And they understood that Draco could never really harm them. He was intended for their greater good. He was an enemy whose wits they could respect, yet whom they could still rejoice in hating. His defeat came to represent the glory at the end of every trial, the satisfaction at the completion of every burdensome task, the silver lining in every cloud."

The Doctor was fascinated with the idea. "I think you could have opened franchises with Draco."

Avram continued, "Well, in the end, even our youngest were raised with little Dracos, silver figures which presented each child with challenging riddles to encourage them in the quest for wisdom."

"Draco the Prophet, eh? That explains its third eye, common in many reptilian lifeforms. The theory does remind me a little of the practice on my home planet of Gallifrey. I was taken from my family to enter the academy at the age of eight. I turned out alright, well, depending on whom you ask, but a number of the alumni, including some of my peers, were damaged forever. We were all brilliant, of course, but four or five of them became complete nutters who caused no end of havoc."

Avram seemed a little offended at the Doctor's obvious pleasure in telling this story. He paused thoughtfully, then said,

"Doctor, why would such an advanced race as yours take children from their parents just when they need them the most?"

The Doctor didn't need to admit that this was a good question for which he had no answer. His face said it. Loudly.

"We can visit the Artefacts again if you wish," suggested Avram. "I fear we may have limited time and there is one more thing I must show you."

"Limited time? Are you referring to Clara? She's going to kill me."

But Avram was already on his way.

"Where are we going?"

"To my laboratory. If you will oblige me, I would find comfort in your company, as I am dreading what I might discover."

"Certainly. Show the way."

The Doctor fiddled with his wristwatch and hailed Clara.

"Clara, are you there?"

"Yes, Doctor. It's about time. I'm running out of ideas. Don't these kids have homes to go to?"

"Well, you could send them home, I guess. But I'll bet they won't go. Grave-robbing, cookies and Clara have probably made this the best day ever."

"What are you two doing down there?"

"I suppose you could call it a royal tour. Why don't you bring your class down and check out the museum. I must warn you, though, miss, some of it is designed to frighten the socks off the kids. Over and out."

This time, the king did lead the Doctor to an elevator. After its golden door closed behind them, the blue cylinders of light shut down, one by one, and their contents vanished. However, the shape of Draco remained. In the dim light it no longer possessed the translucence of a projected image. A bright green light now burned in its three reptilian eyes. Its claws flexed. Its tail uncoiled. Its jaws opened. Its tongue curled. Its head turned towards the stairs, and a deep whisper arose from its mouth.

"Cla-ra."


	6. Death Mask

The elevator travelled down but not very far. The Doctor and the king walked along a silver corridor filled with dim, aqua light. Round portals allowed a quick glance at the contents of each room on either side. The Doctor recognised experimental equipment, both electrical and chemical, but the purpose of some of it was unfamiliar even to him.

Each of the last three rooms on both the left and the right contained what resembled hospital gurneys. Perhaps Avram was not only a scientist but also a surgeon. Either that or all of his medical staff had long since passed away.

At the end of the corridor, Avram gave another command and a large metal door slid slowly open.

"If the room upstairs is the chamber of the father, then this is the chamber of the son."

The space was filled with life support machinery, much like that which the Doctor had seen inside the pod, and it was similarly active. A large stainless steel cube, about two yards across, sat at the centre. Since everything else in the room was connected to it by cables and pipes, it was clearly the object of all the attention.

Solemnly, Avram touched some controls at its side. The top half of the cube lifted towards the ceiling, and the form of an adult human could be seen inside the lower half beneath a transparent shield. Its feet were together, its arms outstretched, just like the position of Avram in the Protos. Yet this form showed no signs of life. Avram began to sob.

"I'm sorry, Avram. I really am."

"No Doctor, these are tears of joy. He is alive."

The Doctor leaned over the bier and peered through the slightly frosted casing. The figure was clad in the familiar close-fitting linen, but there were many dark lines, a network of strange veins, visible on his neck, wrists and hands, ankles and feet. His head was covered with a linen coif. His face was hidden by an ornate silver mask, a stunning, stylised masculine face. Decorated with an intriguing network of geometrically-arranged floral symbols, it suggested relics from the Byzantine Empire on Earth. Through the large almond-shaped eye openings of the visage only darkness could be seen.

"This is Jason, my youngest son."

"Why is he here?"

"He outshone his older brothers in every way, both intellectually and morally. When it became clear that he was the one who would lead them into the future, they gave themselves over to an inordinate bitterness. Rather than assassinate him, in their cowardice they began to poison him with toxic metals, compounded and coded to present the symptoms visible on his skin."

"That's horrible. Did you know?"

"Not at first. We believed it to be an unknown plague, and once it had corrupted his DNA, it was diagnosed as a degenerative disease. I developed this technology to keep him alive in the hope of a cure. Your arrival has revived that hope, Doctor. Perhaps it is you yourself who has brought the wings of healing for Jason, the faceless child of the prophecy."

"What do you mean? What can I do?"

Avram walked back into the corridor and stood outside one of the rooms which contained the gurneys. His face was bathed in the sickly aqua hue. The Doctor joined him, and looked into the room through the large portal.

The hefty, silver form of Draco stood over the gurney, which was now occupied. A tangle of tubes and wires connected the occupant's head and torso to a bank of busy machines. Draco, his green eyes focussed and his armour glinting in the half light, was adjusting the connections to the body with a slow, meticulous, almost graceful movement of his long claws. In this context, his weaponry now took on a terrifying surgical implication.

"Who is that?"

Draco's right arm extended carefully across the figure and folded back the sheet.

"Clara!" The Doctor hammered on the portal, then turned to Avram and grabbed him by the collar. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, Doctor. She is perfect for my purpose."

"What purpose!? What have you done to her?" the Doctor bellowed. "Let me in!"

He reached for his sonic screwdriver, but it was missing. As he checked his many pockets, Draco held it up before his face on the other side of the portal.

"Avram, what are you planning to do?"

"Jason needs some things from her," the king declared gravely.

"What?"

"Her eyes … and her heart."

"You'd murder my friend to save a thousand year old corpse?"

"No. You have a choice. You possessed not only the intelligence but also the audacity to break into the tower of Protos. You have freed me, Avram the fashioner of worlds, and you will now provide the physical members required to revive my dynasty."

"What do you mean?"

"Give Jason your own eyes and your own heart. I understand that you have two of each."

"Was this entire set up a trap so you could secure some body parts?" the Doctor raged. "You're exactly the kind of tyrant you railed against upstairs. You disgust me."

"This is an act of love. For the life of my son, and the life of Clara…" Avram waved his arm towards the now open door on the other side of the corridor.

The Doctor looked sideways into the room, tears spilling from his eyes. Would he regenerate if the surgery was not life threatening?

The door to Clara's cubicle opened, Draco reached out and gently took hold of the Doctor by the neck.

"There's no need for this," grimaced the Doctor. "I'll do it… I'll do it!"

Draco lifted him up with ease and placed him onto the gurney. He was stripped of his bow tie, jacket and shirt. Electrodes were carefully attached to his arms and chest. A catheter was inserted into his forearm just above the glyphs, and a bright green fluid made its way through a tube into his bloodstream.

The Doctor looked across at Clara's motionless form.

"You're a monster!" he spat at Avram as his senses numbed and the room began to reel and lurch.

The silver giant lowered a circular surgical frame from the ceiling, placed a claw under the Doctor's chin and turned his head upwards to secure it into position.

"Are you certain of your decision, Doctor?"

"Yes. Just promise me you'll let her return to my ship."

"You have my word, Doctor. Draco is highly skilled. If you survive the operation — and it is likely you will — despite the darkness, you yourself will enjoy not only freedom, but the knowledge that you have saved my home from a slow and painful extinction. With Jason, the son whom my wife named 'healer' before she died, we shall begin once again."

The Doctor's mind searched frantically for a solution, but none could be found in the seconds of consciousness which remained, especially one which would not threaten the possibility of Clara's release.

The Doctor stared angrily at Avram, who now stood at the end of the gurney. The king's face bloated, his eyes burned and shining spines grew from his skull. His head silvered, morphing into the face of Draco. This was the last thing the Doctor's eyes would see while they remained his own.


	7. Signs

Tob wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the sky. It was midday and the hours he had spent gathering food had not been as fruitful as yesterday. The large hessian satchel slung over his shoulder contained barely enough nuts, berries, grains, mushrooms and insects for one day's meals. Things were getting tougher every year.

He removed the satchel, tossed it onto the ground and was about to sit in the shade of the wheat and the weeds when he heard a cry. It was coming from the direction of the tomb.

A woman was running towards him. Behind her, something in the shimmering distance moved and caught the sunlight. A piercing flash momentarily obscured his vision, then he recognised the face of Jood, a woman from the encampment. Her golden braids danced in the panicked sprint. He ran to meet her.

"The dragon! I've seen the dragon!"

She ran to his arms, out of breath and wild with terror.

Tob looked towards the tomb. Its gold shone the way it did every noonday, but there was something else, something silver.

"What were you doing there?"

"Looking for Bel and Gog. I went to make an offering at the tomb and to watch it for the day, but somebody has broken in. I stepped inside and the dragon from the song of Avram was waiting for me. He has burning green eyes. He's terrible to see."

"What did he do?" asked Tob, trying to comfort Jood with one eye yet on the shape across the field. She was finding it difficult to speak, so he sat her in the shade and offered her some water.

"He told me that the Catchers are coming."

"That sounds like a warning rather than a threat. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I ran. But he must have the children!" She burst into tears.

"Did you see them?"

"No. But it was dark inside. Their father was taken six years ago and our mother died from the grief. I promised I would look after them. I promised!"

"Jood, the Catchers aren't due again for another ten years. We have guarded Avram's tomb faithfully for centuries. Why would his servant tell us they are coming early if he wasn't trying to protect us?"

She looked up at him with little comprehension of his logic.

"We must go and speak with him," he announced.

"I couldn't. I'm too afraid."

The crackling sound of wheat stalks underfoot came from behind and a great shadow was cast across them. Jood screamed. The silhouette of Draco's magnificent head and armoured shoulders eclipsed the sun, which gave his form a fiery aura. In his deep whisper, he announced a potent hybrid of news, prophecy and imperative:

 _Flesh and blood awakes  
and the locusts approach.  
You must warn the people.  
Hide them from the sky  
until the Healer sees the way  
and restores for us the crowned heads.  
But first come to the Healer  
and shelter under his wings._

Draco moved and full sunlight filled their vision. They turned their heads away, and when they looked back he was nowhere to be seen. Tob turned to the tomb just in time to see a silver shape vanish through the doorway.

Jood was beyond panic now, almost senseless, but Tob's sunburnt and sinewy embrace had calmed her breathing.

"We must follow him," offered Tob. He stood up and gently raised her to his side.

Neither Tob nor the dreadful silver herald was making much sense, but for Jood it was a comforting change to follow a man with a plan.

.

.

The Doctor felt an affectionate kiss on his forehead. He recognised Clara's delightful perfume.

He realised that he was now sitting upright. He opened his eyes but all was darkness.

"Clara? How am I?"

"Better than ever. Even better than clever."

Suddenly, the darkness before him opened like giant curtains. It was, in fact, giant curtains. The Doctor looked out into Avram's Great Hall. Seven giant masks, all similar to the one worn by Jason, yet each one unique, and all in a line, stared with their sightless eyes across the room at him from high on the opposite wall. Below them, Avram seemed oblivious to this revelation of the Doctor as he guided Deimos and Phoebe around the Circle of Artefacts with a live commentary.

"Clara. Am I sitting on a golden throne?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Why?"

"Avram says you passed the test with flying colours. He won't tell me what it was, but he did say you are twice the man he thought you were."

A compact makeup mirror was thrust before his face. Not only did this confirm in a greater way that the Doctor still possessed his own eyes, it revealed the golden dot now painted under each of them, and the large almond-shaped eye of wisdom upon his forehead.

"Looks like you are the golden boy after all," she smiled, and made her way down the seven or eight steps to the floor of the hall."

"Well, all I can say is it's very good to see you."

"Come and have something to drink. Apparently you need it."

"Oi, Avram," the Doctor called out, rudely. His spiel interrupted, the king turned to him with his eyebrows raised.

"I still consider you my friend, but you are scarier than any villain I have ever come across. You make the Time Lords look like amateurs."

The king walked to the bottom of the stairs and bowed his head.

"Doctor, since I am your friend, I beg your indulgence and understanding."

"Certainly, but an explanation for what I just experienced would go a long way towards us being best buddies."

"It was necessary not only to prove your exemplary character, Doctor, but also to discern whether you were indeed an impostor. Very little on Protos is as it seems."

The Doctor backed down a little. "Well, I appreciate the golden eye but it had better rub off."

The king raised his head, then raised both arms with open hands to welcome the Doctor and point him to the generous fare arranged upon a long golden table.

"I hope your wisdom and good character do rub off. I am in desperate need of your help."

"What do you mean?"

The king seated himself at the head. The Doctor seated Clara and the children, and then himself at the other end, facing the king. The children looked at each other as if to say, "More wonderful food," and began to tuck in.

"Doctor and Clara, my new friends, Jason still needs your eyes and your hearts."

"Hmm. I can see that life with Avram is never boring," the Doctor remarked very loudly in Clara's direction.

"Just like you," smirked Clara. "Is he your dad? If he isn't, he should be."

The Doctor filled Clara's goblet, then his own, and lifted it towards the masks on the wall. "Are these the 'sons of terror,' the brothers who poisoned your protégé?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Avram seemed a little sheepish. Understandably, the Doctor was becoming more and more wary of what he might have gotten himself into.

"What happened to these brothers?"

"As I explained, they were jealous of their youngest sibling and disabled him. Their success in overturning my succession plans gave them greater confidence. They saw my love for Jason demonstrated as I spent my days seeking a cure and developing technologies to keep him alive. Ever cunning, they saw in this technology a means of extending life, of potential immortality. They imprisoned me, poached my discoveries and secured the planet. They isolated it from its sister worlds, from any kind of trade, and condemned it to a slow descent into barrenness. Then they began a campaign of conquest. They would not be content with my gifts to them, but demanded greater and greater power. In this process they lost their souls. And I fear they are guilty of even greater crimes."

"So, where are they now?"

The golden double doors opened, and Draco entered the hall with Tob in tow. He was relieved to see the children not only alive and well, but eating a king's lunch. He introduced himself and bowed before Avram, his gaze distracted but maintaining a well-trained aversion from the eyes of the king.

"Great father, please tell me what's going on. Your servant says the Catchers are coming, but it's not their time. The older sister of these children is waiting upstairs sick with worry for them. We are terrified. Please help us!"

As the king apologised to the young man, mentioning that the Doctor and Clara were willing to help, the entire building began to shake. It was a low vibration but the rumble was audible — and increasing — like a progression of rolling tremors before an earthquake.

"They're coming," shouted the king. He made his way hurriedly towards the stairs. "Follow me!"

Avram, the Doctor and Clara, Tob and the children walked out of the tomb into a noonday that was being devoured. A dark cloud on the horizon was steadily growing into what appeared to be the the blackest storm front possible, an enormous shape with random spikes of unnatural lightning. It was rotating slowly, which gave some indication of its incredible scale. As it fattened and arched, it became apparent that its vortex was not horizontal but vertical. Lightning bolts performed a macabre dance inside its gaping, billowing mouth. Flocks of terrified birds fled overhead as the rumble increased. The cloud cut a striking contrast across the golden sky.

Jood was standing motionless before it. It was just as she remembered from her childhood, when her father was taken. She turned and saw her siblings, and ran to them with tears and cries of relief. At least they were safe from the oncoming terror.

"What is it, Avram?"

"It's the Catchers," said Tob with wide eyes and a slackening jaw. "They've come once again to harvest the men."

Draco placed a claw on Tob's shoulder and he pulled himself together.

"I just learned about the king's mines. I must get the men to the mines!"

"Here," said the Doctor in a voice raised to compensate for the increasing din. He asked Clara for her headset and handed it to Tob. "Take this. I'll contact you. Be safe."

Without a word, Tob took it, expressed his thanks with a terrified smile and a gasp, and darted into the wheat field. The Doctor turned to Avram.

"So, what is going to happen? You said you needed my help. Is this a game of chess that has gone horribly wrong?"

"They know I have escaped my prison. It is my own errant children who are the guardians of Protos. They are the sons of terror."

"What do they want?" asked Clara.

"I'm not certain. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything."

The rumbles were gathering themselves into a frightening beat, the sound of a thunderous pile driver, or the steps of an approaching giant.

"I could take you all away from here, you know," reminded the Doctor.

"I will not leave Jason," remarked Avram, briefly closing his eyes. "And I assure you, Doctor, this will not be a contest of might."

Great metal ships appeared in the vortex. Avram ushered everyone back inside the tomb and Draco closed the outer door. Avram continued,

"When they come, we will have no defence but our wits."


	8. Holes

"Avram, what are the Catchers?"

The king sat in his high-backed chair while the Doctor paced the floor.

"Draco calls them the locusts. He showed me some recordings of what has been going on since his deactivation, and my … containment."

He motioned to his servant. Part of the plating on his chest opened and a hologram appeared before him. It was from the viewpoint of the top of the ziggurat. A couple of hundred men were running wildly through the wheat field. Laser blasts were being fired from the sky but their source could not be seen. The blasts were setting the field alight yet none of the figures were harmed by them. In fact, it seemed as though the blasts were being targeted for the express purpose of herding the men together. As the Doctor, Clara, the king, Jood and the children watched in horror, the men were finally encircled by a wall of flame.

Deimos and Phoebe, or rather, Gog and Bel, began to whimper. Jood ran to them and pulled their faces to her neck, turning even her own face from the projection. She knew what was coming. She had seen it for herself, and once was enough.

Suddenly, lightning-fast silver cables, almost too swift to be seen, whipped down and began seizing the men by an arm or a leg, and occasionally even by the head. The lassos and their targets disappeared just as quickly from view.

Clara put her hand to her mouth. "Doctor, that's horrible."

"Yes. Yes it is," he remarked with a frown and a sideways glance at Avram. "The question is, why do they take them, and why is it only males past a certain age?"

"On that front, I know as much as you, Doctor. Due to the shielding of Protos over the centuries, besides the testimony of those left behind, this is the only record of such events."

"Perhaps they take the men to keep the people weak, unable to fight back."

"They don't take the cripples, Doctor," offered Jood, "or anyone with deformities."

"Interesting."

"And how could we fight back?!" she suddenly raged. "The most the men could do was hide, or try to weigh themselves down with gold. But they always found them, and the Catchers were too strong. Only women live to be old on Protos."

"Well, Avram, are you proud of your sons?" The Doctor, too, was becoming angry. "You don't seem very ashamed of these regular 'harvests,' as Tob called them."

"I am ashamed, Doctor. But I know my sons. I refuse to believe that they are beyond redemption. Logic would suggest that they seize the able males for troops to man their continued campaigns."

"Well, perhaps you need to stop thinking like a father and start thinking like a king. I expect this practice is carried out right across the planet." He nodded towards Gog and Bel. "You are responsible for all of these fatherless children."

Avram was silent.

"How can we get at them, Doctor?" asked Clara. "We can't even see them."

"They're here because I disturbed their father's rest. We won't need to go to them. They will come to us. In the mean time, let's hope Tob manages to protect their prey."

.

.

Tob sprinted to his tent and grabbed a rope, then ran through the deserted paths of the village bellowing a call for the men to follow him.

An old woman emerged and informed him that they had already left for the small, bouldered hill nearby. Tob checked the horizon. The ships had finally emerged from the cloud's shadowy maw, before which they caught the sunlight like a handful of bright stones. The mix of beauty and terror stunned him for a moment.

The woman shooed him away. "They have supplies. Run!"

He obeyed.

.

.

About fifty men aged between fifteen and thirty were huddled behind a handful of large boulders. Besides the wheat fields, which had a reputation for tragedy, the local landscape offered little other protection. The story of the Catchers tearing the tents of the encampment apart was one which the women insisted on telling their children. The men were effectively driven away at the first sign of the visitors.

He ran towards them, shouted, "You must follow me!" and kept running.

"Where are you going?"

"Avram is awake. He sends us to the well."

The group slid and stumbled down the scree on the far side of the outcrop into a small valley. At the bottom was a large golden grate.

"Hurry!" He called for help to lift it.

"We can't all fit down there." Their horror was intensified by Tob's apparent madness.

"It's not the dry well we thought it was," he explained. "It's a shaft to the ancient mines of the king. They'll never find us."

A team of three held the rope while the youngest climbed courageously into the darkness.

Something in Tob's satchel made a noise, and he pulled out Clara's headset. He could hear a voice calling his name, and figured out, after a few attempts, how to wear it.

"Tob, are you there? It's the Doctor."

"Yes, Doctor. Progress is slow."

"Tell the men to follow the shaft in the direction of the tomb. Apparently you can access it at the lower levels. But take your time. It seems that the visitors might not be coming just for you, so it's better to lay low. Talk to me if you need directions. I think our silver friend has a map on file in case you get lost."

"How will we see down there?"

"Em, good question. Draco seems to have thought all this through. Apparently there are creatures living in the mines which emit light — probably something Avram cooked up. He called them gold worms, but glow worms might be a better description."

"Are they harmless?"

"The directive was 'Look but don't touch.' If you don't disturb them you should be fine. Let's just hope they are still there after a thousand years, shining their little lights."

It took the best part of an hour to get the bulk of the troop into the shaft, one by one. When only the strongest were left, it was clear that they would not have the convenience of a rope for the descent. And something else became clear.

"Where's Gath? Where's my cousin?"

"He went to get water," offered one. "With Dod."

"I have to find them," yelled Tob. "Quickly, I'll lower you down as best I can."

The look on Tob's face made it obvious that any protest would be futile.

.

.

The ships approached as Tob hurried towards the creek on the other side of the encampment.

"Doctor, I'm searching for two men who went for water. One of them is my cousin."

"What? That silver hat won't protect you from unidentified flying objects, Tob. I hope Avram didn't give you the wrong impression about the kind of help I can offer. Hang on, I'll check with the boss."

A moment of silence.

"Avram is sending Draco out to help you. Apparently he's quite quick on his heels. If you find them, don't forget to let them know he's a friend. If the shaft is too far away, bring them back here."

The Doctor wasn't used to hiding from the action.

"Could the TARDIS be of any help?" suggested Clara.

"Possibly, but only as a last resort," he whispered in reply. "That wasn't part of the deal. And the whole point of getting in here without it was to avoid these guardians getting their hands on it. I still don't know what we're dealing with."

Draco bowed and made his way up the stairs. The Doctor turned to the others.

"As much as I want to go with him, I can't imagine I'd be much help out there. Better to concentrate on what happens in here when they arrive."

Everyone looked at him expectantly.

"So," he clapped his palms together and spun on one heel to survey his audience, "does anyone have a plan?"

.

.

The ships were chromed, reflecting the landscape below them. They were shaped like elongated tear drops, or seed pods, pointed at one end. They formed a circle directly over the encampment, apparently scanning for adult males. Tob, Gath and Dod ran towards the tomb through the wheat. There was no point trying to keep their heads low. Not only were the ships right above them, able to track the paths they left in the field, the last fifty yards was barren dirt.

Laser blasts shot from the sky and fires began in the field. Draco appeared before the men, lifted his head and fired a green bolt from this third eye. The blasts stopped.

The Doctor appeared outside the tomb entrance and shouted to the three men,

"Hurry! Don't worry about the flames. You're almost here."

Like lightning, a metal cable lashed down and wound its end around the Doctor's ankle, lifting him into the sky. Another cable seized Tob around the neck, winding itself around his shoulders and under his arms.

Draco fired another blast, this time towards the closest ship. There was a loud twang as a metal cable was split, its halves whipping apart and dropping the Doctor to the ground. Howling in fear, the other two men ran to the tomb entrance and disappeared.

"Tob!" the Doctor shouted as he retreated reluctantly to safety. The young man's form was reflected in the smooth underbelly of the nearest craft as the cable retracted. Tob's writhing body vanished through a small hatch.

Draco fired another blast and the ship returned fire. He dodged the blast but a second shot from another ship knocked him to the ground, where he lay twitching with some kind of electrical seizure.

The ships were now partly obscured by the black smoke from the burning field. Another cable lashed out, again with the sound of a power line whipped by a storm, but it bounced off the surface of the ziggurat. "Hurry up and show yourselves," the Doctor muttered to himself, and coughed. He stood in the doorway, waiting to see what would happen next. There were no further exploratory grabs from the cables. The ships now encircled the building, and they began to descend. He closed the door.

.

.

Avram and Clara were on the observation deck, the room with the large, circular portals.

"Tob was taken. Draco has unfortunately been incapacitated."

"Time to leave, Doctor?" asked Clara.

"Since the catch was so disappointing, I think they've packed up their fishing gear for the day. Next I'm expecting a knock at the door."

"I hope you're right, Doctor," said Avram. "I have no idea what to expect."

"What does it say about the 'fashioner of worlds' if he can't control his own children, hey?"

"Doctor, I will gladly listen to any reproof, but surely now is not the time?"

"He's right," said Clara.

Before the Doctor could reply, the entire room began to shake.

"What's happening?" shrieked Clara.

"You two, downstairs, right now!" He could barely be heard above the noise.

As Clara and the king followed his instructions, daylight suddenly found its way into the room from all directions. It was coming through the portals. The ships were blasting the rock fill away from the top of the ziggurat. The ground level gradually lowered until the entire top deck of the building stood at the centre of a large, newly-formed crater. There were six portals, and the Doctor, squinting in the light reflected from the sparkling soil, could now see six craft on the ground around the crater's edge.

He circled the room, studying them and thinking, until a ramp descended from each and a figure stepped regally down each ramp. They were tall, robed head to foot in long tunics of chain mail, each wearing his chiselled replica of the great silver masks in the hall below. Above the masks, each head was crowned in a gunmetal domed mitre, matching the colour of their gauntlets.

Each paused at the foot of his respective ramp, the dramatic display heightened by black smoke drifting across the crater from the wheat field.

"Putting on show, eh?" said the Doctor nervously. "Very creepy. Couldn't you just leave some mysterious crop circles and go away."

"What is … crop circles?" The voice was deep, slurred, and slightly spiteful. Two of the forms rotated their heads towards each other, then back to the ziggurat.

A slow pounding of drums began emanating from the ships, a sound obviously calculated to terrify. The figures started to approach the exposed building, making their way down into the crater until each stood just outside one of the circular portals, staring through the glassy shields into the room with their invisible eyes.

"We wish to see our father," the same voice sounded. The Doctor wondered not only how he could hear it, but why the speech was so clear. Then he realised it was coming from his wristwatch.

"Tob," he mouthed in horror.

In unison, the figures lifted their right arms, clenched the gauntlets into fists and began pounding them into the portals. Before long, the room was filled with clouds of shattered glass as the portals gave way.

A bright green light appeared at the centre of each of the mitred crowns and the sons of terror stepped into the dark room.

But the Doctor was already gone.


	9. Pipes

The sound of drums continued.

Shards of glass cracked under the weight of the metal-clad invaders as they tramped down the stairs into the Chamber of the Father.

Instead of the gleam of the Protos at the centre of the network of golden lines, there was a tall, blue oblong box with bright windows and a small beacon on top. Double doors in its far side were open and light was streaming out into the room from within.

"Scan object."

Green beams cut a bright band across the TARDIS from top to bottom.

"Unknown object. The database indicates it is both extremely primitive and highly advanced."

"This may be a trap. Exercise caution."

They entered the TARDIS and were confronted with some very obviously transcended dimensions, that is, it was bigger on the inside than the outside. Any shock they felt was hidden by the silver masks, and was overridden by the fact that this unfamiliar space was now the location of the Protos. They encircled it just as they had surrounded the ziggurat, and each lifted his right hand towards it.

.

.

The narrow ventilation pipe was not vertical all the way down, which meant for an easy slide or crawl into the mine shaft proper. It led into a chamber which served as a junction for three tunnels.

Although gold was commonplace for this band of gatherers, they had never seen the inside of the mine. Moreover, the display of glow worms which decked the ceilings was spectacular. It was like a cross between a sky full of stars and a chandelier showroom. Some of the creatures hung down in gleaming chains. Others were looped back up again like Christmas tinsel. But they were not entirely still. Besides a subtle rise and fall in the level of light, a sort of corporate pulse, there was also a slight movement here and there, as though individual animals were turning in their sleep, seeking a more comfortable position. Their combined appearance was a golden ocean of electricity, its waves not frozen but undulating in slow motion.

The men took in this beauty with little comment as they munched on the meagre supplies they had brought, rations which they hoped would last them a few days. Once they concluded that the worms posed no threat, the quiet, and the soft pulsating glow on their faces, served to calm them after the terror they had experienced. A foreigner might conclude that the lifeforms on the ceiling could have been the original inspiration for the golden beads braided into the hair and beards of these surface dwellers.

A man named Dak was serving as watchman while the others relaxed or attempted to nap. He heard the almost imperceptible sound of dirt falling down the ventilation shaft from which they had all emerged, about a hundred feet away. Perhaps it was the women, come to inform them that the threat had passed.

He made his way to the opening of the pipe, which travelled upwards from the room at a steep but climbable incline. The rope they had used was still hanging down from the golden grate to which they had eventually tied it. But now he noticed there was also a metal cable dangling beside it. His eye traced it down to the darkness of the ground between his feet, yet it did not end there. A few small rocks tumbled down the pipe and Dak realised that, like the gold worms, the cable was not entirely still. He turned around to follow it and suddenly heard a commotion from the party he was chosen to protect.

The cable was dragging itself back up the pipe to the surface, and Dak saw that its end was coiled around the leg of one of the teenagers, dragging him along the ground. The others had gripped his arms and torso in a vain attempt to pull him free of its grip. The boy was writhing and screaming the name of his mother.

Their efforts were futile. The noise of panic and strain continued until the boy disappeared, upside down, yanked out of the supposed safety of the mine.

"They'll be back," said Dak, exhausted and angry.

"Tob told us not to follow the shaft," said one of the older men.

"We have no choice," stated Dak. "We have to get out of the reach of the Catchers. I doubt their cords can reach forever."

More scree was heard falling down the ventilation pipe.

"We have to move. Now."

.

.

Outside in the afternoon sun, there was a stirring in the mounds of dirt piled up around the crater. Draco raised himself out of the loose earth and turned to face the exposed and shattered portals of the ziggurat. He moved towards it, then paused as if he were receiving instructions, or sensing something, his silver tail curling in and out as if it helped him to think. He turned himself around and disappeared in the direction of the mine shaft.

.

.

Avram entered the Great Hall from the elevator doors. Jood sat on one of the ornate chairs in the Great Hall and Clara stood behind her, much like a hair dresser.

"How many do you think we will need?" Clara asked him.

Avram rubbed his chin. "I don't know, young lady. How many can Jood spare?"

"Anything for my king," said Jood, bowing her head.

"Keep still," said Clara kindly.

Gog and Bel entered the room through a door behind the throne dais, presumably a vestry. They were wearing ornately decorated robes of shining silk, one in blood orange and the other in a shimmering emerald. They had also washed their faces and hands, as instructed.

"How do we look?" they asked in unison.

"Like royalty," said Avram, "as indeed you are, my children."

They smiled at each other. He placed a hand on each of their heads.

"But today, the kingdom is at stake. Being a prince or princess requires an enormous amount of courage. We must all be as wise as serpents, yet as harmless as doves. Do you believe you have what it takes to triumph in this ordeal?"

"Yes, sire." Their 'best day ever' just kept outdoing itself.

Clara appeared behind the king.

"Here we go, your majesty." He turned to her and she presented him with two handfuls of golden beads from Jood's braids.

"Excellent. Now, the Lady Jood must do her magic, and Lady Clara must find something to wear."

"You don't seem very frightened," Jood observed worriedly from her chair.

"That's because I know the Doctor," smiled Clara.

"As do I," added Avram, thoughtfully.

.

.

The rotation speed of the orb decreased and it began its descent to the floor. As it did so, two figures entered the TARDIS wearing white robes with hoods. They knelt on the floor with their heads bowed. Their faces were hidden, but long braids of hair with golden beads were visible beneath one hood, and a beard braided in a similar fashion beneath the other. They were immediately detected.

"Who are you?" asked the presiding invader.

"We are Kovah and Regel, attendants of the king, and thus also your willing and harmless servants."

The knight-like figure stared for a moment, not knowing what to make of this unexpected offer of servitude, until the pod began to open. A voice came from inside.

"Hang on, hang on. Spin cycle's not done yet. Nothing's worse than damp smalls. I get terribly chafed, don't you? Makes me walk like a crab. Can't have that in the presence of royalty."

There was a figure inside, wearing what appeared to be the requisite protective skin, but may also have been thermal underwear. He wore the golden eye on his forehead, and the two golden tears below his eyes.

The Doctor looked up at the six masked faces surrounding the machine. They looked down at him.

"Oh, hello there, chaps. You certainly took your time. While I've been waiting for you I've read _Les Misérables_ and catalogued the ten thousand best insults in history. What do you think of this one from Mae West? 'His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.' Eh? How hilarious is that?"

"Where is Avram?"

"Haven't seen him for ages. Neither have you, from what I hear. It's risky dumping your parents into aged care and never visiting them. You never know what they might get up to."

"Are you able to pilot the Protos?"

"Well, before Avram left us he swore he'd give me some lessons, didn't he? I've fiddled around a bit but still have no idea how to fly this thing. Typical Avram. Promises you the world but gives you an atlas."

Two of the figures lifted the Doctor out of the capsule and forced him to his knees before the spokesman, who placed a gauntleted index finger on the Doctor's forehead.

"Are you the Healer?"

"Well, you could say that. I'm known as the Doctor."

"I know your voice."

The figure scanned the Doctor's watch, broke it from his wrist and slowly ground it almost to powder in his fist.

"You will join our ranks and serve our cause before the day is through. Where is the king?"

"Avram is dead, sire," informed Kovah, the male servant.

"But the king is downstairs, sire," offered Regel, the female.

The invaders exited the TARDIS dragging the Doctor by his arms, the servants following behind them. The spokesman issued a command and a large, circular section of the floor began to descend into the Great Hall.

"What? There's a lift?" said the Doctor, hunched over and sounding very sorry for himself. "And here have I been trekking up and down those stairs all day!" His dour face flashed a smile for just a moment and he winked at Kovah.

So far, so good.

.

.

The large disc, carrying its nine occupants — and of course, the TARDIS — descended into the Great Hall, which was now completely dark. The only light was the dim circle of the cavity in the chamber above and the warm glow from the open doors of the Doctor's machine.

Seconds after the platform was lowered to the floor, it was surrounded with bars of blue light, the holographic beams of the Circle of Artefacts. Each of the beams contained what the Doctor and the others had witnessed previously, except for one — the one from which Draco had emerged. It was directly in front of them, and something appeared within its bounds.

It was a high-backed leather armchair, ornately carved and with gilded trim. Avram sat in it, and he was puffing on a golden pipe, its smoke curling upwards in the brightness of the beam. He was seemingly unaware of his audience, yet he began to speak.

"Welcome my sons. I prepared this message for you in the hope that some day you would return."


	10. Face Value

The alien cloud was still visible in the night sky. It obscured the stars and was lit from within by occasional lightnings.

The fires in the fields were dying out. Those which remained now merely added to the smoke of the fires in the village, where the women and children had gathered outdoors to comfort each other and encourage hope for the return of their fathers, brothers and sons.

The singing of the women and children could be heard from a distance as the wives of Tob, Dak and Tor approached the ships which surrounded the ziggurat. The seed-shaped pods emitted a faint glow in the darkness, and every now and then bright searchlights scanned the shallow crater within their boundary and the area just beyond it. The feared metal cables were exploring the ground on all sides, dark lines curling around rocks and boulders. A number of them could be seen tracing from the silver pods across the ground and disappearing through the broken portals of the ziggurat. Either the women had not been detected, or more likely, these beings simply weren't interested in them.

The women turned to go when suddenly the sounds of men were heard, presumably from inside one of the ships nearest to them. They were screams, perhaps the sounds of torture, yet they ended as abruptly as they had begun.

The wife of Tob started to run towards the ships, but one of the cables reared up before her to keep her away. The other women retrieved her, and together they made for the village in a state of helplessness and horror.

.

.

It was now almost a full day since the men had entered the mine shafts. Without Tob's radio connection to the Doctor there was no means of navigation, and it had become clear that the mine was actually a network of similar tunnels joined by almost identical junctions.

After assuming a sort of leadership by default, Dak had split the group into two parties when confronted with a forked junction where either tunnel could have been the correct choice. Two men were given the responsibility of gathering together a small mound of rocks every fifty feet in case the groups needed to locate each other or retrace their steps to the ventilation pipe.

Dak had mixed feelings about discovering another shaft to the surface: though a quick climb would allow him to get his bearings, it was likely that the Catchers had located and were monitoring every possible means of escape. Besides that, It was very unsettling being unaware of the exact time of day. The light of the gold worms was a blessing but this underworld was oblivious to the cycle of day and night.

Dak's party was now faced with another junction, a choice between a wide tunnel which led deeper into the ground at a challenging incline, or a narrower shaft which led upwards but offered only a very low ceiling.

"Which way do we go?" asked Dak, with an unexpected and perhaps unwanted democracy.

"We'll have to crawl if we go up there," said one of the larger men, "and we were told not to touch the worms."

"It may be another pipe to the surface," offered Dak. "We should at least check it out. The water we have isn't going to last another day."

Dak turned to make his way up the narrow shaft but a strong hand took his shoulder and held him back.

"We can't afford to lose you, brother," came the quiet but firm voice of Tor. "Let me go first. I'm the oldest here, anyway."

Tor made his way into the smaller shaft while Dak instructed the rest of the party to wait for their report.

The size of the tunnel decreased until they were scrambling on their bellies, carefully avoiding the tangles of worms which filled even this narrow shaft, whose incline was now only slight.

"We should go back," said Dak, coughing in the dust raised by Tor's progress.

"I think I can see some light up ahead, but I can't be sure," said Tor.

"The shaft's getting too narrow," warned Dak.

Tor looked back to reply to Dak face to face, but his head made contact with the worms. Before he could speak, his body convulsed and the shaft was filled with a glare as sharp and unbearable as a welding torch. A sputtering, electrical hiss was followed by showers of sparks, from which Dak was forced to shield his eyes. The worms directly above Tor were frenzied, untangling and descending from the low ceiling. They wrapped themselves around his body, which was being slowly rotated and lifted up into the shining network of glowing chains.

"Tor!" Realising there was nothing he could do, Dak started a scrambling retreat. As he withdrew, he watched Tor's body being released again to the floor, silent but still writhing. From only a few feet away, illumined by the worms which, if disturbed, threatened him with a similar fate, Dak noticed that Tor's skin was taking on the appearance of gold. As it did so, his body stiffened and stilled. His exposed limbs were now a mottled mix of human flesh and gleaming metal.

His eyes now wide in wonder more than terror, Dak continued his backwards crawl until Tor's semi-transformed body was out of sight.

In the warm light of the glow worms, Tor's face, veined with gold, suddenly contorted and his eyelids opened. His eyeballs were now blank orbs without pupils or irises, like the eyes of the marble statues of Greece and Rome, but completely golden.

.

.

"Show the Doctor due honour as a seer," said Kovah, his face still hidden under the hood of his white robe.

The Sons of Terror allowed the Doctor to stand, and he stepped from the platform to the floor of the Great Hall.

"Thank you," he said, and the projection of Avram continued its speech.

"I chose the Doctor as my legal representative. He has been tried and found faithful. You will listen to him and follow his instructions or you will be immediately destroyed."

"He has no power over us," challenged the spokesman.

"Well, actually I do," explained the Doctor. "You boys have just been put on hold, temporally-speaking, for an entire day, and you didn't even notice it. Check back with your ships. I'd give you the time of day personally, but somebody stole my watch."

There was a pause, and the spokesman asked, "How did you achieve this?"

The Doctor strutted before them with the glee of an attorney explaining his watertight case.

"This box is my ship, the TARDIS, and it gives me power over time. I used it to reverse the time distortion created by the Protos and contain it within my control room. While you spent only minutes inside the TARDIS, an entire day has passed inside the Protos and out here."

"Why did you do this?"

After a thoughtful pause, the Doctor smiled, "We just wanted to make sure everything was prepared for your welcome."

"So you'd better behave yourselves," added Avram from his chair, with a frown upon his brow and pipe smoke threading upwards from his nostrils. "Firstly, you must prove your identity as my children," he waved an open palm at another of the blue beams, "at the Tree of Life, the only tree on Protos." The tube of light containing the silver globe representing the planet Shabar immediately brightened, and a sapling-like shoot sprouted from its top. It quickly formed into a small tree with seven branches. Near the end of each branch appeared a burning light. These lights together dulled to reveal the forms of seven planets, each apparently composed of a different metal. They were all similar but each unique, rotating slowly and shimmering in the dark space around the silver tree.

"Receive your worlds," commanded the image of Avram, now standing before his chair.

One by one, each of the Sons of Terror stepped forward and grasped a planet, as though each orb were a designated piece of fruit. As each did so, the world in his hand quickly became the blinding light of a star and then died away to nothing.

Avram, seemingly satisfied with their identities, sat in his chair once again and retrieved his pipe. "Thank you. You have represented your houses correctly."

"We desire to see the grave of Avram," said the spokesman with a hint of impatience.

The Doctor signalled to Kovah, who disappeared momentarily into the darkness and returned with a golden urn. He bowed before the spokesman and lifted its lid. The urn was filled with ashes. The spokesman turned his masked face towards the Doctor, who wasn't sure if this was an expression of suspicion, exasperation or joy.

The Doctor clapped his hands twice and called for refreshments and entertainment. Burning torches on golden stands suddenly brought the hall to life, and the Doctor motioned an invitation for the sons to be seated at a banqueting table with six chairs.

The sons did not move, and the spokesman clenched both his gauntlets into fists. In response, the Doctor walked to the TARDIS and announced,

"Together, the TARDIS and the Protos represent complete power over time, space and matter. You could seize them now, just as you took hold of those planets, but they would be useless to you. You could spend an eternity studying them and still be none the wiser concerning their operation. Or, you could be a little patient, honour your father's memory by submitting to these official proceedings, and you might just get what you came for handed to you on a platter."

After a few seconds, the spokesman led his brothers through the beams towards the table and they sat down. The Doctor leaned over and spoke into his ear,

"I'd advise you to play along. You have no idea whom you're dealing with."

"Nor do you, Doctor," was the measured reply.

Kovah brought six golden goblets, placed them before the armoured figures and poured out the king's wine in generous amounts. He disappeared once again and returned with freshly-prepared delicacies on platters of gold: exotic fruits, carefully arranged displays of sliced meats, and bowls of sweet delights.

As he did so, Regel removed her white robe, and the shape of Jood was revealed, barefoot, wearing a two-piece costume covered in golden coins. She bowed before the sons while Kovah brought a silver stool and a lyre and began to play. Gog and Bel ran from behind the curtains which obscured the throne, carrying small drums, seated themselves on the floor and began to accompany the lyre. Their admiring eyes were fixed on Jood as she danced in and around the torches. The coins and her swinging beaded braids caught the light, and her golden bangles and anklets jangled in time with the drums. It was a captivating display of talent … and beauty.

"Let me take this opportunity to don some more suitable attire," announced the Doctor, who bowed and disappeared between the curtains.

The Doctor hurriedly put on his shirt and trousers while Clara returned to the gap in the curtains to watch Jood's dance, which was getting wilder every second.

"Boy, can she dance."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Really not the occasion to be standing in public in one's underwear. Help me with my bow tie."

Clara swayed to the music as she adjusted his collar, and said, "And our friend plays a mean harp."

"It's a seven-stringed lyre, actually," corrected the Doctor.

They both put their heads to the gap in the curtains, then Clara turned to the throne.

"Are you prepared, your majesty?" asked Clara.

"Yes," came the deep reply.

"Clara, have you noticed that not one of them has touched the food or wine, and they seem to be paying no attention to Jood at all?"

"They're wearing masks, Doctor."

"Yes, but they're not even turning their heads to follow her. They don't seem entirely human. Immortals are usually up for anything. That's why I rarely go to their parties. Absolute shockers. A bunch of immortals moves in and there goes the neighbourhood."

Clara glared at him and he glared back at her with one eyebrow raised, as if to say he wasn't joking. Then he returned his eyes to the Great Hall and remarked, almost to himself,

"I was really hoping they'd take those masks off."

.

.

After a terrifying description of Tor's fate, and stern warnings concerning the gold worms, Dak's party had taken the shaft which led deeper into the ground and come across an exposed section of an underground river. They refilled their canteens while the rear guard completed a suitable pile of rocks.

They then moved into a large chamber, a junction of four or five tunnels. It was filled with abandoned mining machinery. Helmeted, humanoid forms were visible inside the machines, but they were still. On closer inspection, it was clear that they were also machines, androids.

Dak was the first to jump into one of the open vehicles. Once he was sure that the android pilot was inactive and not likely to fight back, he pushed it out without ceremony, sat in the pilot seat and began to test the controls.

As he did so, loud shouts were heard coming from the tunnel where they had filled their canteens. Ten to twelve men appeared, running and waving their hands. Dak jumped out and ran to meet them.

"You found us alright, then? What's happened?"

"The guardians have slain the rest of our party," cried one.

"Deimos and Phobos!" roared another, out of breath.

"How do you know?" questioned Dak. "We haven't seen them for a thousand years."

"They have the third eye, like the dragon, and silver horns. And they walk like the living dead."

"They are right behind us!"

Dak pushed the men aside so he could see down the tunnel. Two lights were visible, twinkling in the darkness below the glow of the worms. They were approaching fast.

.

.

"Enough of this time wasting" thundered the spokesman. He stood up abruptly and as he did so he tipped the large metal banqueting table over without any perceptible effort. Food and drink tumbled onto the floor. He stepped forward and took hold of Jood, twisting her arm and forcing her to the floor before him. The terrified children abandoned their drums and ran behind the curtains.

'We do not believe that Avram is dead," he bellowed. "Either he will teach us how to pilot the Protos or he shall be imprisoned in it once again. We shall slay you all one by one until Avram shows himself."

"I know how to pilot the orb," came a deep, authoritative voice from behind the decorated veils.

"Show yourself."

The curtains opened, revealing a figure on the golden throne. He wore the seventh silver mask and the now familiar suit of white linen. However, there were white tubes attached to his arms, legs and torso, and black veins visible on his neck, wrists and feet. Above his linen coif, a metal surgical frame crowned his head with a circular light attached to the front. It glowed with each syllable he spoke.

"Jason!" spat the spokesman.

Clara, decked in gold and robed in silver stood to Jason's left, and the two children were seated on the steps at the foot of the throne. Together, the four suggested a royal family posing for a portrait.

"Bow to your king. I am already a dynasty," ordered Jason without emotion.

"Little brother, we would not to bow to you then. We will not bow to you now."

The figure on the throne rose and walked down the steps. He stopped several paces from the spokesman, lifted both hands and carefully removed his own war mask. The Doctor watched attentively, and witnessed not the revelation of a distorted human face, but merely more of the thick, alien linen which covered Jason's body. The only accommodations made for his face were two black circles for his eyes and a black rectangle for his mouth.

"Cybermen?" whispered the Doctor to himself.

Facing Jason, the spokesman removed his own mask, revealing an identical visage beneath his gunmetal helmet. His mouth opened only once, and remained open while his voice uttered a chilling yet familiar statement,

"You belong to us. You will be like us."


	11. Cold Blood

"Excuse me? I don't think so!"

Clara's protest resounded across the court in a tone unbecoming of women on Protos, let alone their queen. She stamped down the stairs and stood between the faceless brothers. Despite her golden crown, they towered over her.

"You can't take him," she said with a finger on the spokesman's chest. "He belongs to me, and I've a marriage certificate to prove it."

The invader pushed her to the floor. The Doctor made to aid her but she waved him away. She recovered her composure and put an arm around the now discarded hostage, Jood.

"Outside of life support, Jason will not last a week in this condition," the spokesman explained. "He has only two options: sleep, or conversion."

Avram puffed on his pipe, then interjected, "Our kingdom was a kingdom of peace, where men ruled through self-sacrifice and wisdom, not coercion and avarice. Your dominion means nothing. You have no sons, no daughters. It is dust in your hands."

"We have been taking men from this planet for centuries," boasted the spokesman.

"Did you hear that, Clara? You're the queen of Protos, the womb of the Cybermen!" jeered the Doctor, barely containing his disgust.

"You think you know who we are, Doctor?"

"Oh yes. Everyone knows the Cybermen as galactic parasites and ruthless killers, but it turns out you're even worse. You enslave and consume your own descendants. You not only 'conscript' the innocent from other civilisations, it's clear now that you've even turned your own home planet into a people farm. The men are converted into soldiers and the women are treated like battery hens. And what for? You've no culture, no character, no progress apart from building better ways to maim and kill. You're like the public service of the universe, a self-perpetuating scourge with no purpose and no soul."

The spokesman signalled to his fellows, now standing, and two of them gripped the Doctor by the shoulders and began to shake him.

"Hieros! You will allow the Doctor to advise us," ordered the voice of Avram from the Circle, "or your inheritance will forever remain out of your grasp."

Hieros, obviously the spokesman, reluctantly signalled the Doctor's release.

"We are not Cybermen, Doctor. They are our children, so to speak. We need no others."

"Well, technically you might not be Cybermen, but before the images and memorials of your departed father and mother in this room, I'm telling you that you are not even men. You're not superhuman. You're less than human — just a bunch of teenagers with daddy issues trapped in a perpetual adolescence. You started out cheating death and ended up cheating everybody."

"Have my brothers committed crimes beyond those which you have mentioned, Doctor?" asked Jason. "Since they stand in this court, they already face trial and possible execution."

Hieros was unfazed. "What do you know of the Cyber Race, Doctor?"

"Just about everything! I could tell Jason some stories that would make your father turn in his grave. The Cybermen are not your children. Your children are the flesh and blood you disposed of centuries ago for your own convenience. Roll the tape!"

Avram's image waved his hand and a holographic scene appeared before the throne. It depicted fifty or so terrified women and children in a mine tunnel being herded towards a dark cavern.

"This act was not one of convenience but necessity," stated Hieros.

"Necessity! Really?" raged the Doctor. "According to Draco, the women and children in this recording are your own wives and offspring."

This was too much for Jood, who threw her arms around Clara and buried her face on her shoulder.

"And get this," the Doctor continued, hitting his stride, "I always suspected that survival was not the real reason you removed your emotions. That's just a story you monsters spun to cover the very human evil at the heart of the Cyber Race."

"What do you mean, Doctor?" asked Jason.

"Here's my theory," the Doctor paced the court behind Jason, eyeing the brothers with manifest abhorrence. "I first encountered Cybermen from Mondas, presumably one of the planets Avram manufactured for his sons. They told me they had removed their emotions because love, pride, hate and fear are unnecessary accessories to human life, things to be discarded."

"Don't they feel any of those things?" asked Jood, looking from the Doctor to Hieros and back again.

"No, they don't. All they know is a viral greed and a corporate cunning. But there was one thing they didn't mention, and I have a sneaking feeling it is the real reason they suppressed the last vestiges of their humanity."

"What reason is that, Doctor?" asked Jason.

The Doctor paused, walked up the steps to the throne and sat down.

"I hope you don't mind, King Jason."

"Not at all, Doctor. You bear the eye of wisdom. Make your judgment."

The Doctor nodded his thanks. "I'm talking about the moral compass built into every member of every advanced race." He leaned forward and pointed at them to express his rapidly escaping temper. "For want of a better description, your brothers cut out their own hearts because they couldn't handle their guilt."

"Is this true?" Jason asked his brothers. They remained silent. However, the Doctor was not finished.

"Forget the challenges of bio ethics. You lot find even basic ethics a challenge. The untempered envy in your hearts has led, step by step, to cold blooded crimes without number. And you feel not one ounce of remorse."

"You are very perceptive, Doctor, but the only real evidence you have presented is a misrepresentation of the truth."

"What do you mean?" asked Clara.

"Show the remainder of the recording," requested Hieros.

"Do so," ordered Jason.

The holograph replayed but this time it continued until the real source of terror became apparent. It was Draco. The giant silver dragon was the one doing the herding, firing laser bolts and emitting terrifying, electronic roars.

"We harvest the men of this world and many others for the glory of our race," explained Hieros without emotion. "But we did not murder our own wives and children. As you can see, they were slaughtered by the servant of Avram."

The Doctor panicked. "Avram, is this true?"

Avram replied, "They must have reprogrammed him to do their dirty work after my imprisonment." But the voice did not come from the hologram.

Kovah, who, like any good butler, had been silent throughout the proceedings, suddenly stepped forward and removed his hood. It was Avram, sporting the golden beads plaited into his beard by Jood.

"Father!" exclaimed Hieros. "Just as we suspected."

Avram walked bravely between Jason and his older brothers.

"Certainly. You would never reveal your true desires to me, but you would make every demand of Jason, whom you poisoned and whom you still despise."

The Doctor tried to regain his handle on the proceedings. He spoke from the throne, "Avram, did all of Jason's brothers fail their ordeal?"

Jason answered, "Yes, Doctor. They failed a thousand years ago, and because of their unwillingness to do right, their ordeal is not yet over. And neither is mine. It simply grows and grows."

Jason clearly remained in full possession of his emotions. However, at this point, they possessed him. With a broken voice, he explained,

"Instead of recognising the darkness as an opportunity to shine, my brothers let their bitterness devour them. Instead of nurturing their gift planets as an example and resource for all species, they have plundered and perverted worlds without restraint. Instead of being the blessing intended by my father, they are a plague, a curse."

"We do not recognise your authority," stated Hieros, coldly. "The Protos belongs to us, and we also claim the Doctor's TARDIS. Until all the data required for the operation of these machines is transferred to our data banks, we will harvest every common man on this planet. Jason will be returned to his slumber if he refuses to join us, and his false queen and her children will be slain before his eyes."

The Doctor lifted Clara to her feet and stood in front of her.

"You have no right to do any of this. You're just like your artificial children after all."

"And what about me?" questioned Avram.

Hieros had no answer for him.

"It seems patricide is beyond them, at least," suggested the Doctor, "or are they afraid they still need you somehow?"

Avram did not speak. It appeared that he had been waiting patiently for just this moment. He walked calmly into the Circle of Artefacts and stood by the projection of his beloved Ribqah, through which he addressed the six.

"My sons, you are lacking not only in heart but in wisdom. Do you really believe that you stole your technology without my knowledge? It was left unsecured that your true hearts might be revealed in your deeds."

"That makes no difference now," said Hieros.

"Oh, yes it does." His voice hardened. "You see, the technique through which you live today, mighty and untiring, was only half the process."

This sentence not only caught the attention of Avram's sons, it also astonished everyone in the court, including the Doctor, who whispered to Clara,

"Avram always has one more trick up his golden sleeve."

"Explain," thundered Hieros. Avram continued,

"The complete process is now perfected. It will not only increase your flexibility and strength but also your longevity. It is the ultimate combination of biology and technology, far beyond even the advantages you now possess. It should complete the healing of Jason, and of yourselves, if it does not kill you instead."

"You lie!" shouted Hieros.

"I don't think so," stated the Doctor, rubbing his chin. "Do you seriously believe Avram would be content to leave Jason, his beloved son, in this dependent and, quite honestly, ghastly-looking state? You made a terrible mess of your brother, and then set about making a terrible mess of yourselves. And despite the shiny veneer on your grand Cyber armies, underneath all that silver, every single member really does look a bit… DIY?"

"We are perfect," stated Hieros.

"Really?" challenged the Doctor. He stepped boldly up to Hieros, planted his face right in front of the ghoulish linen visage, and tapped it on the nose. "You're obsolete. If I were you, I'd jump at the chance of a free upgrade."

As he turned away, he apologised to Jason.

"I'm not offended, Doctor. If my brothers decide to undergo this process, I will gladly join them."

"Beyond this risk, however, there is still a catch," continued Avram.

"What's that?" asked the Doctor.

"If the Sons of Terror survive this physiological refinement, their emotions will be restored."

There was a pause while everyone took in this new information.

"Well, boys," said Avram, "what will it be?"

Hieros replaced his mask, consulted his comrades, then turned and said, "We shall retire to discuss this offer and return in one hour."

The Sons of Terror returned to the platform within the Circle and it carried them, with both the TARDIS and the Protos, back up to the chamber of the father. They wisely remained outside the TARDIS, wary of any further trick the Doctor might have devised to delay them.

"This new process may be a trap," began Hieros.

"It cannot be a trap if Jason is to be included," deducted a second brother.

"Completion may give us more power, and more glory for the Cyber Race," offered a third.

"Once Jason is like us, we will have control over Avram and the Doctor," spoke the fourth.

"We will possess both the Protos and the TARDIS," predicted the fifth. "We shall have power not only over matter, but also space and time."

"Then we are united. It is worth the risk," concluded the sixth.

There was a pause, then Hieros spoke again. "Is the army prepared?"

.

.

Jood retrieved the children from hiding and brought them before the Doctor and Avram. She did not need to ask aloud how they would be protected. The question was written in her eyes.

"You've got some explaining to do," said the Doctor to Avram.

"Likewise," sputtered Avram to the Doctor.

"I think you've both got some explaining to do," announced Clara.

Jason collapsed.

"Quick, we must get him back to the laboratory."

.

.

The twinkling lights now crowned the forms of two men. The head of each man was covered with a white cloth containing holes for eyes and mouth. Silver pipes mounted on a silver headband formed a square frame which held the bright torch in place — the eye of the dragon. They were a combination of dirty human flesh and silver armour, and did indeed move like the walking dead.

Dak reached for a handful of the sparkling rocks gathered into a mound on the floor, and pitched one after the other at the worms directly above the approaching threat. His third attempt hit its mark, and a shining tangle descended from the ceiling. It enveloped one of the dragon men and the result was the same as it was with Tor — though the face remained masked, his exposed arms and legs became mottled with gold and he was dropped to the tunnel floor.

However, the second man still approached, entering the cavern where the roof was too high and the gold worms too far away. It cornered one of the young men and placed its silver gauntlets around his neck. The other men attempted to pull the ghoul away but its strength was super human.

In a panic, Dak sprinted to the mining vehicle and managed to activate it. He steered it towards the mêlée, shouting for the men to get out of the way. They succeeded in freeing the young man and Dak's machine pinned the masked devil to the tunnel wall. It began clawing at the front of the mining truck and then smashed the front window with its silver fist. Dak continued to accelerate, the caterpillar treads of his truck filling the cavern with clouds of dirt as he crushed the figure against the wall.

The monster finally became still, its head bowed and its arms limp.

In the sudden quiet, Dak hopped out of the truck and went to inspect his victim. He was interrupted by a sudden cry.

"It's Tol," wailed the man who had removed the mask of the first attacker. Dak ran to inspect the body. It was indeed the teenager who had been dragged up the ventilation pipe. In a second, he realised the identity of their second attacker. It would be Tob. Was this the fate of the generations of men stolen by the Catchers? And would this nightmare end?

There was a rumbling sound and the wall against which Dak had pinned the possessed body of Tob began to disintegrate. Boulders fell and crushed the mining vehicle. Fortunately, none of the remaining men was hurt.

When the dust cleared and it seemed any danger of further collapse was unlikely, there was now a great hole in the side of the cavern. A cold white light was shining from something beyond their field of vision, so Dak and two others approached the breach.

Before them was a large, round, glass portal, like the ones on the observation deck. With their faces pressed against the window, they looked down into a massive silver vault. Every corner was covered in what looked like ice and frost. One wall contained a multi-storied system of ladders and glass doors, behind which were shadows suggesting human forms. It was like a mass grave, only vertical.

Dak called the others. "Come and see this! But keep your voices down."

The most disturbing feature of this room was the occasional movement barely visible on the floor in the half light — a silvery, slithering mass of serpentine shapes.

"Get back!" hissed Dak. He ducked his head and the rest of the men withdrew. "There's someone down there."

He raised his head and stole another glance at the floor, five or six stories below them. There was indeed someone there. It was a giant, with silver armour and three large green eyes glowing atop its draconian head. It was slowly operating the controls on a number of wall panels with its long, shining claws.


	12. Circle of Light

Jason was returned to his life support cube on a gurney hidden in the vestry while the children, Jood and Clara did their best to restore some order to the Great Hall. Avram then gathered everyone to the hall of learning, one level above the laboratory.

A spiral staircase of gold linked three levels, all with stone columns draped in ivy. The large arched window frames would have added to the cathedral-like atmosphere had the ziggurat not been buried. The top level was filled with desks arranged in circular rows around a central dais. The furnishings — desks, bookshelves and ladders — were all of polished timber.

"This is a beautiful place," commented Clara.

"What is it?" asked Gog.

"It's a school, a place where people come to train their minds," said Avram. "It was here that Jason last saw his beloved Sophia."

"It reminds me of the Cloister Room in the TARDIS," said the Doctor, "a place I only visit when things are going terribly wrong. Are things going terribly wrong, Avram?"

"That all depends upon the decision of my prodigals, doesn't it, Doctor? Now, you take the stage and tell us about the Cybermen."

"Certainly."

"But quickly. This window we have is closing fast."

Avram, Clara, Jood, Bel and Gog each sat behind a desk.

"Well, this is a bit weird," said the Doctor.

"The Doctor lost for words? Are you sure you're not an imposter?" said Clara.

"You may sit down if you would prefer," offered Avram.

"I would prefer!" He did so.

"Ahem. I guess the most important thing I know about Cybermen is that gold and Cybertech don't get on very well. There's another planet of gold named Voga which will be a crucial resource in the Cyber Wars."

"Ah yes, Voga was the model for Protos," explained Avram.

"You must have known something about the Cybermen, Avram. You knew about me," said the Doctor with a raised eyebrow.

"I suspected that they were the result of the rebellion of my sons, but could not be sure. I did not tell you in case you decided you would leave."

"Are you kidding?" said Clara. "If there isn't any trouble the Doctor will end up creating it. But tell us about the gold. Is it Kryptonite for Cybermen?"

The Doctor began to explain Kryptonite, but Avram interrupted,

"I read every Superman comic, Doctor. I know about Kryptonite, too. Due to its non-corrodible nature, gold essentially chokes their respiratory systems."

"That's why people will develop glitter guns in the Cyber-Wars of the future. They fire gold dust at their targets. Gold-tipped bullets also do some damage."

"From the way you speak, most of their history is ahead of them," mused Avram.

"They do manage some rudimentary time travel, so their actual development is a little hard to pin down. They never manage to build enormous armies, so they have to rely mostly on subterfuge and cunning."

"I wonder where they got that from," said Clara.

"Yes, indeed," added the Doctor. "I guess the reason they barricaded this planet was to keep the largest source of available gold under lock and key."

"That makes sense," said Avram. "But I must explain the reason it is so harmful to them."

"Please do," said the Doctor, mentally ticking off another mystery-to-solve on his bucket list.

"Gold is a crucial element in the final stage of the regenerative procedure. Their cybernetic bodies are merely a scaffolding, a placeholder for an entirely new biology."

"What do you mean?" asked the Doctor.

"Like a caterpillar, the old form is replaced by the new. The flesh and bone, plastic and metal, merely provides the shape of the new body. In the refining process, it is entirely consumed."

"And out comes a butterfly!" said Bel with wide eyes.

"You kids are smart," said Clara. "I hope you get to go to school some day."

"But what you are describing is a sort of biological alchemy!" exclaimed the Doctor.

"You know that it is possible to turn lead into gold if one has the right tools," said Avram. "The advance of my technology from the replacement of biology with machines to the actual transformation of biology was the next logical step. And I achieved it."

"Would that explain the gold worms?" asked Clara. "The Doctor has shown me some weird things, but that idea didn't seem natural at all."

"Yes. They resulted from some early experiments, and became useful in many unforeseen ways."

"So, have you done any experiments on people?"

"Yes, but only two. They were willing subjects who suffered from terminal illnesses. The process was a complete success. They looked like gods," Avram laughed, "but were the most humble people I have ever known. They became very dear friends. Of course, I had to keep the whole thing a secret. They agreed to serve in the royal court to demonstrate their gratitude."

"Where are they now?" asked Gog and Bel.

"I'm afraid I don't know. They were the original guardians of the ziggurat, Deimos and Phobos. They stayed hidden behind guard uniforms and terrifying masks. Perhaps they were stolen. Perhaps they were buried."

The children seemed a little disturbed by this, so Avram cracked a smile.

"I hear you two make pretty good replacements."

"What do we do now?" asked Jood, less interested in stories and more concerned with the approaching confrontation.

"Doctor?" asked Avram. "These creatures are my sons, but it seems you know them better than I do."

"Well, I know them well enough to predict that they will trot back downstairs with a plan for world domination and vouchers for free flying lessons in the blue box and the golden ball. But one thing did surprise me."

"What's that?" asked Avram.

"They had to meet behind closed doors to discuss your offer. Actual Cybermen would never do that. Each would immediately make the same decision. They're one of the few races that ever got 'groupthink' to work for it. There would be no need for a conference about it."

"I see," said Clara. "So they're not all the same. They still have their own opinions about things."

"Interesting," said Avram. "How can we exploit this?"

"Well, your sons are proto-Cybermen by choice. Though it's likely they will decide unanimously to undergo this process of human alchemy, there must be some way we can 'divide and conquer.'"

"I know," said Jood, who seemed to be the only one with an idea.

Everyone, including the children, looked at her in surprise.

"When their leader grabbed me and hurt my arm, I noticed that one of them looked away."

"I noticed that, too," said Clara. "How does that help?"

"Avram," asked Jood. "Do you have something of Ribqah's that I could borrow?"

"Certainly. Come with me."

"I'm coming, too," announced Clara, who smiled wickedly at the Doctor and pointed a thumb at the two children as she left.

"Oh, okay then. Um, hello kiddies," he began nervously.

"Hello, Doctor," said the children. "Clara told us stories about you. Tell us what happened after you were swallowed by the python!"

"Oh, she told you that one, did she?"

.

.

Avram, Jood and Clara stood in the Great Hall at the base of the stairs. Only fifteen minutes of the hour now remained.

"Are you sure about this?" Avram asked Jood.

"Yes, I'm sure. I must do this for my parents, and for my brother and sister," she replied resolutely. Real tears ran across the golden tattoos under her eyes.

"Do you remember which of the Sons turned his head?" Avram pointed at the seven masks high on the wall. She indicated the one at the centre.

"Prince Egregoros," he informed her.

"We really should tell the Doctor what's going on," suggested Clara.

"My dear, he would never allow it. Craftiness and subterfuge are wonderful instruments in the repertoire of the prophet, but the ultimate goal is always the thwarting of evil. Sometimes, nothing less than face to face confrontation will do. Besides, the Doctor is our gracious guest. I must let my dear sister's wisdom in this matter prevail. She has set her face like a flint and will not be deterred."

Jood bowed to the king. Still barefoot but robed once again in white, with the addition of a brilliant red sash, she made her way slowly up the stairs.

"Is there nothing else we can do?" asked Clara, her own eyes tearing up.

"Probably, just as one can drink water when there is wine to be had." Avram sat in one of the gilded chairs and pulled out his pipe. "That girl has the heart of a lioness."

The face of Ribqah in the hologram seemed to turn to him and smile.

.

.

The Chamber of the Father was empty, but for the king's furniture and the open TARDIS. Jood made her way to the next flight of stairs, up to the observation deck. The stairs were still scattered with broken glass, but her feet were tough and she trod gingerly.

The open deck was filled with the light of the afternoon sun in which the carpet of shattered glass blazed like a sea of crystal. The Catcher cables still snaked around the room, preventing any escape from the ziggurat, at least for human males.

The Sons of Terror stood in a circle at the furthest side of the room from Jood. Once she was detected, they formed a line and she began her approach. She placed her right foot on the edge of the mass of glass and carefully put her weight on it. She could feel it cutting into her, yet she brought her left foot forward and made another step.

One deliberate step after another, she made her way across the room. Her face was filled with pain, yet she never took her eyes from her wayward brothers. She became aware of music, the singing of women and children who had surrounded the crater in search of their men. Her feet were being cut to pieces, yet her eye remained single.

The Doctor's head appeared suddenly at the top of the stairwell. Clara was behind him.

"Jood! Come back! Don't do it."

He moved to stop her but the cables whipped towards him. He ducked behind Clara and then disappeared. Clara stayed and stared as Jood reached the other side of the room. She began to speak to the brothers, but her words could not be heard above the singing from outside.

She spoke for almost a minute, then finally one of the Sons of Terror broke rank. With his gauntlets to his head, he fell to his knees. Hieros made moves to restore order, but the fallen son pushed him away. The fighting continued for a few moments, then Hieros lifted his hand to strike Jood. Egregoros knocked him to the ground and threatened the other five. He reached for Jood, lifted her from the blood pooling at her feet and marched to the opening ramp of the closest ship with her in his arms.

Totally stunned, Clara turned and made her way down to the Chamber of the Father. The Doctor checked the stairs to make sure there were no cables following her, then took her by the shoulders.

"What happened?! Clara, tell me!"

Avram and the children appeared from downstairs.

Clara composed herself and wiped her eyes.

"She told them that they took her father when she was eleven, and that her mother died from the grief when she was twelve. And she is terrified of losing her little brother."

"And then?"

Clara looked to Avram, who nodded. Her eyes welled up.

"She forgave them. She broke the circle."


	13. Numb

Jood opened her eyes. She had somehow forgotten the time of day. She had no idea where she was, however, she was lying beneath a sky she knew very well. It was the familiar red and gold of a Protean dusk, yet it was somehow distant or obscured.

She was in an oval-shaped, silver room, yet she could see through it. She tried to sit up but her body failed to respond. All she could do was lift her head, and what she saw made her gasp. Spindly, automated metal arms were working on her feet, making slight whirring and clicking noises as they removed chunks of glass from their soles. One by one, the shards clinked as they landed in a surgical dish. There was a strong, alien smell which she would not recognise as an antiseptic. She could feel no pain.

Turning her head, she saw in the distance the dim shapes of the women and children returning to the encampment. She longed to be with them.

"Do not move," came a voice from behind her. She tilted her head back to see Egregoros monitoring her progress on a holographic screen.

"Where am I?"

"You are in the surgical craft. Your feet are being repaired."

"Are you going to take me away, as you take the men?"

"No. We failed to modify the process to enable the successful conversion of females."

He walked around the gurney to her side. The robotic arms began stitching up the wounds with almost invisible thread.

"Then why are you repairing me?" she asked.

"I … do not know." He paused. "Because it is logical."

"Was it logical to fight with your brothers? I thought none of you had feelings any longer."

Another pause.

"I have … memories."

"Do you remember your mother?"

"Yes. This belonged to her."

He lifted the end of Ribqah's scarlet sash.

Egregeros clenched his fists. "Jason took her away from us."

"And you took my father, and my mother, away from us."

"Our plan is logical. The conversion process removes the risk of death. It removes all pain."

"Out there, before you rescued me, I saw pain, even through your mask."

The warrior removed his mask, revealing the soft material that covered his thousand year old face.

"It was not pain. It was … confusion. I have … memories."

Jood thought for a moment, then said,

"Your emotions are like my feet. I cannot feel them, but they are still there."

The automated surgery came to an end. A third arm appeared and carefully sprayed her feet with a temporary skin of lustrous silver.

Egregoros flipped a switch and the translucent walls and ceiling became opaque.

"Do you want to be able to feel once again?"

"It is weakness."

"Avram says he can make you stronger than ever."

Another pause.

"We have weighed the weakness of emotions and the risk of death against the possibility of ending our vulnerability to gold. It is logical to proceed with conversion."

.

.

Clara walked circumspectly into the crater with a megaphone the Doctor had sourced from the TARDIS. For some reason the cables had now been retracted, which was an unexpected development. She no longer wore the royal robe and golden tiara. Besides the fact that the gig was up for her queendom, they didn't really go with the megaphone.

"Time's up boys. You've had your hour."

After a few seconds, the searchlights activated and she was bathed in white light. All six hatches opened. The sound of drums began again and dark figures appeared in the hatchways as the ramps extended. Clara determined that Jood's fate was already decided, and that she herself would be better off with the Doctor. She hurried back inside.

.

.

Gog and Bel were playing a computer game at one of the desks in the learning hall. Avram sat despondently on the dais, his pipe between his teeth. The Doctor sat next to him, his knees under his chin. The designs on their foreheads made a perfect pair of golden eyes.

"I fear the outcome of this terrible day," said Avram.

"Nonsense. You've been one step ahead all the way. And apparently, thanks to Jood, we did find a small chink in their armour."

"That girl had more courage than all my sons."

"I must admit, forgiveness was a weapon I'd never have thought of."

"Whatever her state is now, she is free of bitterness."

"Yes. You know what Clara says?"

"What's that?"

"If you resent anybody, they live rent-free in your head."

"My sons are like the walking dead. They have been bound in a chain of bitterness since the death of their mother. I did not realise their ordeal would unleash such a cloud of darkness across the galaxies."

"You weren't to know, Avram. And the outcome of today might vindicate your original judgment. I've seen worse situations than this turn out to be for a greater good."

"I hope you are right, Doctor." He stood up and offered the Doctor his hand. "Come on, old man." The Doctor stood up and laughed.

Clara appeared. "It's time."

.

.

Carrying the Sons of Terror, the circular platform descended once again, but this time without the TARDIS. The Doctor was pacing back and forth before the closed veils in the Great Hall.

The six sons assembled before the Doctor.

"Hello, boys. You're late. Bit of an altercation upstairs, I hear. Where's Jood?"

"She has been returned to her people," answered Egregeros.

A booming, operatic voice sounded from behind the curtain,

"I should adopt her as my own daughter…"

The curtain began to open.

"…as well as her brother and sister. They have a spirit which you do not — the spirit of Shabar."

Avram was seated on the golden throne wearing a glorious golden mask. Its details resembled the contents of a cornucopia, composed entirely of grains and vegetables and fruit, yet together they formed the face of a lion. It was an angry face, a face ready to pronounce judgment.

"Your reign ends today," announced Hieros. "Remove your mask."

Avram did so, then declared, "I bring gifts."

A holographic beam appeared before the throne, the Tree of Life once again, growing out of the silver globe of Shabar. This time it turned dark, as though it were dying. Its fruits shrivelled, and one by one they fell to the floor and turned to dust.

"What is the purpose of this?" asked Hieros.

"If you want to command time, space and matter, there's something you need to learn," began the Doctor. "Think of this as Godhood 101."

"Nearly all of the evil in the universe is the product of impatience," said Avram. "Hieros, you are my firstborn, and it was your impatience regarding power which disqualified you."

"I am the logical heir of Protos," stated Hieros. "I have waited a thousand years already."

"There are two kinds of logic regarding time," explained Avram.

"Yes," said the Doctor, "there's the son who takes driving lessons and gets a job so he can buy a car, and there's the sons who steal the keys, roll their dad's car on a joyride and kill innocent bystanders. Both of these are logical. It really depends on what outcome you hope to achieve: long term gain or short term gratification."

"My vision is long term," argued Hieros.

"Perhaps, but you've left a trail of fear, destruction and anguish wherever you've been. I've seen it for myself, and I've also seen your future."

"Your knowledge will be extremely valuable, court prophet," decided Hieros, who took a step towards the Doctor.

"Wait!" said Avram. "You are my sons, and my long term vision for you was true fatherhood."

"We have our children, the Cybermen," said Hieros.

"They do not represent life. They are merely a suspension of death, just as you are. I would see your faces."

The six removed their masks.

"Your faces," Avram repeated.

One by one, the brothers peeled down the protective fabric, revealing the mummified skulls beneath. Dark, glassy eyeballs sat wired into place above decayed noses and toothless silver jawbones.

"You are like this tree before you."

All eyes focussed upon the tree, which began to shimmer and twist.

"True children receive the best gifts from their fathers when they are mature, when they are ready to shoulder the responsibility that comes with authority. If you were true fathers, you would each have become a tree of life — food and shelter — for your sons and daughters on Protos, who have no such things. Instead, they are food for your degenerate campaigns."

The beam disappeared. The tree remained but collapsed into a heap and began to take on a serpentine form.

"I am willing to give you the glory of the final stage of transformation, and perhaps even the Protos, on one condition."

"What condition," asked Egregeros, slightly more keen to hear terms than was Hieros.

"You must learn to take care of the people on this planet. Only that is true kingdom."

"We will not," stated Hieros.

"I will," said Egregeros. He stepped away from his brothers and bowed his head. "It is logical. They are dying out, and I believe there is much we can learn from them."

"So will I," came a voice from the elevator. It was Jason. He was lying on a hovering gurney directed by Clara.

"Those who will not agree will be destroyed," shouted Avram. "Which of you will stand with Jason and Egregeros?"

The tree was now a great, golden, armour-plated serpent with a flared neck and a long snout which tapered into a row of golden teeth. It quickly snaked around the feet of the brothers. They recognised it as a threat. So did the Doctor.

"A golden Cybermat!" he grinned, rubbing his hands. "This might actually be the best day ever."

The remaining four moved away from Hieros and stood with Egregeros.

"You have no weapons, and we have an army prepared to occupy this place," stated Hieros without emotion.

"Is this true?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes," said Egregeros.

"Strike!" commanded Avram. The serpent latched itself onto Hieros' left heel. He desperately tried to shake it off.

Avram replaced his own mask, and his eyes could be seen burning behind it.

"At last, here is the justice of Avram. The Age of Silver is ended. Now is the Age of Gold."

Hieros was writhing on the floor, wheezing and gasping, still unable to shake off the Cybermat. A thick vein of gold now extended up his leg, and golden veins were creeping across his exposed face.

The Doctor stepped up to the throne and commented solemnly,

"I forgot how scary you could be. Good thing you didn't take the throne till now."

"I am the voice of justice, Doctor, the mouthpiece of the law," Avram thundered.

"I understand. You're just doing your job. Where did you get the Cybermat?"

"Cybermat?" he whispered in reply. "Oh, it's just something I whipped up in the lab." Then he returned to thundering.

"Enough!" ordered Avram, and the gleaming serpent retreated to the foot of the steps. It coiled itself up like a monstrous pet. Hieros now lay still.

"Can you hear me, Hieros?"

"Yes. But I cannot move," he hissed. "I am paralysed."

The Doctor bounded down the steps and walked to the brothers, who were understandably keeping their distance from the shining avenger.

"How long until the Cybermen arrive?" the Doctor asked the brothers.

"They are already here," answered Egregeros.

"We'd better get to work then, if you want to save your brothers."

"What do you require?" asked another brother.

"Well, you're all such strong, strapping lads. Perhaps you could start by giving us a hand with Hieros down to the lab."

"The Cybermen are still at our command," informed Hieros. "They will tear you limb from limb." "Really?" asked the Doctor. "They might not recognise you. I guess we'll see if they are willing to take orders from somebody made of gold."

Before the brothers lifted Hieros from the floor, Avram removed his mask once again and made his way to them. He looked down into the face of his firstborn with eyes filled with tears.

"My son, why would you not listen?"

Avram, the brothers, the Doctor and Clara all made their way to the elevator. Gog and Bel appeared from behind the throne and called to the golden Cybermat. It slinked up the steps and they chased it into the vestry.

.

.

Dak and the remaining men had given up trying to find their way out. All they knew was that retracing their steps involved a terrible risk. They still had water but were now out of food. After finding another junction, they decided there was no point going on. They lay on the floor, speaking occasionally, but the unspoken consensus was that they would simply wait for death.

A faint beeping noise was heard, and some of the party woke from their half slumber. Dak sat up, trying to discern which tunnel was the source of the sound. Two figures approached from the right. Thankfully, they appeared to be entirely human.

"There they are!"

It was Gath and Dod. Gath held a small silver tube with flashing lights, the source of the sound, and Dod was in possession of a large paper scroll covered in straight lines and spirals, presumably a map of the mines. Both carried satchels of food.

"Avram sent us to find you," said Dod. There was a cheer from the men.

"Where are the others?" asked Gath.

"They're dead," said Dak. "And I expect we'll never find Tob." They had agreed not to share the details of the demise of Tob and Tol, at least for now.

As the party collected itself to follow their new guides, the pulse of the gold worms increased and also became audible. It was a deep throbbing sound, about once every two seconds, and the glow was now rushing along the roofs of the tunnels like blood through an artery. It pulsed from the tunnel from which Gath and Dod had appeared, hit the junction and split five ways, flashing along the other tunnels in separate currents. The speed of the pulse was increasing and the worms began to stir.

"Something's changed," said Dak. "What's happening?"

"Avram warned us that if this happened we were to get out of here as quickly as possible. Let's go."


	14. Heart of Gold

Draco had escorted Clara, the children and the five able brothers to a place which Avram referred to as 'The Refinery.' The Doctor had stayed with Avram to assist in stabilising Hieros and Jason for the procedure, and the two were now guiding the hovering gurneys to the elevator.

"Avram, I just realised why you had six gurneys outside your lab," said the Doctor.

"Yes, I thought all the princes might have needed a good bite. I try to plan for every eventuality."

"Which floor?" asked the Doctor.

"Em, Basement," answered Avram.

They stood in silence while the elevator descended. After a minute, the Doctor asked,

"How far down is this 'Basement'?"

"At the planet's core," deadpanned Avram. "It takes about ten minutes."

"Why do you have a shaft to the planet's core?"

"How do you think I get the Protos out of the planets I construct? Would you like some music?"

"Certainly."

"Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy' should just about see us to our destination."

After Avram gave the command and the muzak began, not a word was spoken for nine minutes, but Avram could not resist whistling along. The Doctor noticed the gravity decreasing and both passengers slowly became as weightless as the gurneys.

The elevator bell chimed and the golden doors opened into a rocky corridor, where the children were giggling and pushing themselves off the walls as though underwater. The Doctor and Avram piloted their gurneys down the hallway to a hatch which opened into a crescent shaped control room. The outside wall contained a large design of golden markings, straight lines and spirals. The inside of the crescent was a series of the familiar circular portals. Clara stood silhouetted before one of them, looking down into a spherical cavern. This room had its own gravity, so the Doctor walked quietly to her side and greeted her.

The entire cavern into which they gazed was about thirty yards across, with small tunnels leading off it in every direction from the top of the ceiling to the bottom of the floor. The chamber and the tunnels were all lit by gold worms, which completely covered their surfaces. The light of the worms was pulsing, and the rate of the pulse was increasing.

At the centre was a large glass sphere, its lower third surrounded by a metal catwalk. Inside the sphere were seven T-shaped white frames arranged in a circle. Five of the Sons of Terror had been stripped of their helmets, chain mail and gauntlets. Like Hieros and Jason, they were now completely covered in the linen material, including their faces.

There was no gravity in the chamber. Draco was floating around inside the sphere. He had lifted each one onto a frame and secured him to it with white straps. Their heads were held in place with a square frame of pipes which reminded the Doctor and Clara of Cybermen.

"Ah, the gold worms. Are they part of the process?"

"Yes, Doctor. And so are the tunnels. The entire planet is networked with them."

"Does the process require that much gold?" asked Clara.

"Not at all. The process requires tunnels. When fully activated, the gold worms provide an electromagnetic field."

Clara saw the Doctor's jaw drop. She had never seen that happen before.

"It's a particle accelerator!" shouted the Doctor, clapping his hands and almost breaking into a dance.

"It's a thousand particle accelerators, actually, though that term is a little primitive," explained Avram.

"What does he mean?" asked Clara.

"Well, the transformation can't be achieved with a chemical process, so Avram uses physics to transmute the elements. At that level this is quite ordinary."

"Yes," said Avram, turning to Clara. "I read that the lead shielding on a nuclear reactor on your planet once turned to gold."

Hieros coughed and whispered, "Hurry."

"You're taking a risk with him," said Jason weakly.

"I know," said Avram. "It is the risk every parent takes. Not long now."

Draco finished making adjustments to the coiled tubes and cables attached to Egregeros and stepped out of the glass globe onto the magnetic catwalk. He exited the chamber through a hatch.

"But that's only half the story, isn't it?" The Doctor had calmed down. "Avram isn't merely making gold. There's the biology to account for as well."

Avram led them to a silver cube at the end of the control room. It was much like the one in the laboratory.

"Is this for Jason?" the Doctor asked.

"No," Avram replied. "The process requires a blueprint. I used myself when Deimos and Phobos were augmented. Consequently, they came out looking just like me — another reason to hide their faces!"

"So who will you use today?" asked Clara. "Please, not the Doctor!"

Before Avram could answer, the doors opened and Draco entered. He took the gurneys containing Hieros and Jason to the elevator. Beyond him, its doors opened, and out floated Dak with his guides, Gath and Dod. They made their way suspiciously past the dragon, dodged the children (it seemed zero gravity would amuse them for some time), and entered the control room, glad to use their feet once again.

"One of the true men of Protos," answered Avram, "the hero of the mines. Welcome, Dak. Let me briefly explain what we're about to do. It won't hurt a bit."

.

.

With Jason, Hieros and Dak all in place, Avram and Draco activated the sphere, which began to rotate.

"Not another spinny thing," said the Doctor.

"I have read that your TARDIS spins, Doctor," replied Avram without taking his eyes off the controls. Clara winked at the Doctor, who wasn't used to meeting people who knew so much about him. So much for erasing his history from the universe.

Equipment hummed to life, and the Doctor could hear tones similar to the ones he had heard in the Chamber of the Father, but backwards: a deep tone falling and a high tone rising.

The speed of the pulsation of the light of the gold worms was now like that of a strobe. The Doctor walked over to the cube containing Dak. A screen nearby contained a detailed map of Dak's physiology, scanning it from top to bottom seven times.

The portals dimmed to protect the eyes of those in the control room. The sparking gold worms untangled themselves and reached out to the sphere, which was now a globe of pure white. The cavern was filled with a light like a thousand welding torches, or the birth of a star.

.

.

On the surface, the gold gratings over the ventilation pipes rocketed into the air. Children ran from their tents to see a hundred or more pillars of fire shooting into the midnight sky from across the distant hills.

Jood poked her head out of her family tent and raised her eyes to the heavens. She hoped this was a sign of good things.

.

.

The sphere slowed down and finally stopped. It contained seven young men, all with the features of Dak, yet all made entirely of gold. Gath and Dod were stunned.

As the seven stirred, Draco entered the sphere from the chamber and began to detach their tubes and cables.

"Now for the real test," observed Avram quietly.

.

.

Large metallic doors opened, and a throng entered a great silver vault filled with freezing air. Every surface was coated in ice or frost, especially the floor. The far wall was a multi-storey arrangement of doors, their rudimentary balconies linked by vertical ladders. The floor was covered in familiar silver shapes.

"Cybermats," said the Doctor.

"Dracos," said Avram. "The little ones, remember? They are the bearers of the riddles of life and death. The honourable have nothing to fear — not on my watch, anyway."

Avram guided his now identical seven sons to the centre of the room as Draco operated some controls on the wall.

"I've seen a place like this before," said the Doctor. "It was filled with dormant Cybermen. Many people died that day."

"Don't be alarmed, Doctor. Remember the gift of Jood. Forgiving and being forgiven are perhaps the hardest ordeals any of us will ever face."

Slowly, the dark shapes behind the frosted translucent panels began to stir. Humanoid forms began to push through the membranes behind which they were sealed, tearing them apart easily.

"What's happening, Doctor?" Clara asked quietly.

He did not answer immediately. She noticed a tear running down his cheek.

"Probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said.

Up on the balconies were a handful of dazed-looking women and children. Others were still emerging from their enforced slumber.

Avram called the name of Hieros, and one of the sons stepped forward. He led the linen-clad golden man a few steps forward, and looked into his face. His god-like eyes were tearing up.

"See the love your father has for you," said Avram. "Now, be a father, a tree of life."

All eyes were on Hieros, who looked at Avram, then stepped forward hesitantly to the wall of doors. With brand new vocal chords, he lifted both his head and his voice to the wives and children which he and his cold-hearted brothers had intended for slaughter.

"You belong to us."

This time it was Jason who fell to his knees. Avram realised which son it was and ran to his side.

"Come with me."

He walked Jason forward to a large metal door at the base of the construct, indicating for him to open it. Jason pressed a button with his golden finger, and the silver hatch slid open. He and Avram walked through it to a small room containing another silver cube. Avram opened it, and Jason looked down through the frosted glass to see the pale but beautiful sleeping face of his beloved Sophia.

In the half light, Draco's green eyes appeared beside Avram, and he announced,

"The silver locusts are swarming."


	15. Human Shield

The dawn was yet again obstructed by the gloom of the alien cyclone. Inside it, ten ships were now gathered, each a giant, silver axle shaft with a series of great metal wheels at both ends, all of them flecked with tiny lights. An eleventh, smaller ship had exited the cloud and was now a menacing silhouette above the encampment. It fired a handful of laser bolts among the tents and a number of them burst into flames. It did the same to the unburnt areas of the wheat field and set these ablaze.

Finally, it despatched a scout ship. This was discus-shaped, black with a silver rim. It landed between the burning wheat field and the ziggurat.

A gleaming Cyberman with the black markings of an Air Marshal marched down its open ramp then signalled his followers forward. Ten hybrid troopers, men with the basic level of conversion suffered by Tob and Tol, descended and flanked him in two groups. On his left, each bore a large grey sphere on his back, attached with a black harness. On his right, the five together carried a hexagonal metal box.

The Air Marshal signalled once again. The soldiers marched towards the tomb through the seed-pods of the Sons of Terror, but the Air Marshal returned to the scout ship.

.

.

Avram sat on the golden throne. His seven sons and the Doctor had arranged themselves on the steps, ready for a confrontation.

"Are you sure about this?" asked the Doctor. "Why wouldn't they just blow us all up?"

"They know about the Protos," answered Hieros.

The circular platform descended once again, this time carrying the troops and their cargo. The silver box was activated and Z-shaped robotic arms unfolded from its top, forming a four-cornered frame. A hologram appeared at the centre and the flat, metal face of the Air Marshal turned to see them.

"What is your business here?" asked Avram, again wearing his leonine mask.

"We saw the pillars of fire. We lost communication with the Cyberlords."

"Your Cyberlords are once again my sons," laughed Avram, pointing out the golden men to the black metal visage. "It seems the Cyber Race now has a heart of gold. Do you know what this means?"

"It means there is nothing to fear," answered the Air Marshal flatly. "They are unfortunate casualties of war, but there is no longer anything standing between us and the destruction of this planet and its threat to our longevity."

The contents of the Circle of Artefacts flickered out and were replaced with the full forms of ten Cyberleaders, standing around the communications frame.

"Nothing to fear?" taunted the Doctor. "You're too scared to come down here yourselves, so you've sent your sad, mash-up conscripts as cannon fodder."

"A human shield is a logical strategy, and it shall achieve its goal. You will give us the Protos and the data required for its operation or the bombs will be transported to the core of the planet."

The Doctor stepped up to the throne.

"This is getting boring, Avram. I'm guessing you have this all figured out?"

"No, Doctor," whispered Avram behind the mask. He sounded panicked. "I had not foreseen the coming of the Cybermen. I had no plan beyond the redemption of my sons. It breaks my heart that the new light of this golden day will be snuffed out just as it began."

"Have they always known about the shaft to the core?" asked the Doctor.

"No. I sent them a message during our descent," said Hieros. "I am sorry."

"Activate the bombs," ordered the Air Marshal. The cloth-faced hybrids carrying the devices arranged themselves in a circle and each twisted a metal dial on the trooper in front of him. Then they turned to face the communications frame.

The Doctor paused, looked at the series of human bombs, and said,

"They're totally ruthless. If we give them the Protos, they'll destroy the planet anyway."

"Doctor, what shall we do?" hissed Avram.

"They want the Protos. I think we should … give it to them…" he said darkly.

Avram turned his head quizzically.

"But I'm going to need some things."

"What, Doctor? Anything!"

"Your eyes. And your heart."

.

.

Clara stood on the dais in the learning hall. The wives and children of the Sons of Terror occupied the desks. All the screens were up, and Clara was filling them in on what had happened so far with projections from a feed supplied by Draco.

Clara's commentary went silent. The Doctor's face had appeared, tears in his eyes. He was strapped to a gurney. Avram had asked him for his eyes and his heart.

"I'll do it… I'll do it!" he said.

Draco broke the silence.

 _"_ _The stars rained down  
and a silver man  
opened the golden door,  
gave his eyes and his heart  
for the brides of Protos,  
and between the light and the darkness  
he was taken from the world."_

Clara looked at him in horror.

"What do you mean?"

Sophia stood from her desk and walked to Clara.

"You must help him through the darkness," she said.

"Draco, take the class!" Clara ordered, and she motioned to Gog and Bel. "You two, come with me." Together they headed for the doors.

On every screen appeared an image of the Doctor on the golden throne, wearing the golden eye, with Clara at his side. There was a cheer from the crowd.

Sophia stepped towards Draco, looked up at his bestial, regal face, and placed her forehead gently on his chest.

.

.

"Provide a guide to the planet's core or we shall destroy the humans on the surface."

Egregeros stepped forward. "I will guide you." He led the bomb carriers to the elevator. Its shining doors opened and Clara and the children entered the hall, unnoticed by the throng around the platform. They were ignored by the hybrids who apparently had no orders concerning intruders. They headed for a large box nearby, draped in a veil of midnight blue, covered in silver stars. Egregeros and his deadly cargo entered the elevator and disappeared from sight.

"Bring the Protos before us," ordered the Marshal.

The remaining six sons walked to a corner of the room and lifted the large box to the space between the throne and the Circle. They pulled down the veil and revealed the TARDIS. "Here is the Protos," said Avram.

"Excellent," said the Air Marshal.

"We now summon Avram to the interface, so that the data may be recorded."

"Avram is too old," interjected the Doctor. "I am his doctor. I can tell you that his mind has been greatly confused by his imprisonment. I would advise taking the data from his son, Jason, who has been trained in every aspect of the operation of the Protos."

A golden son stepped forward and a trooper connected him to the communications frame. The image of the Air Marshal was replaced with video static and noise.

"What is this?" demanded the Air Marshal.

"Ah, must be interference from the gold," explained the Doctor. "That's the problem with cheap technology imports. I don't think you'll be getting any information this way. However, even I can tell you that the Protos cannot be operated by a Cyberman. It was designed for a human pilot."

"Then it must be modified, Doctor, or the planet will be destroyed."

"I can do it, but I'll need Avram's help."

"Avram is not confused?"

"Er, just for an answer to the odd question here and there. It should only take about twenty minutes to reset it for your biometrics. But you'll have to give me the required data."

"Yes. Connect him to the interface."

A trooper unplugged the golden man from the device, and Hieros returned to his brothers.

"Well done," whispered Jason.

Once the transfer was made, the Doctor headed straight for the throne. Avram feigned a sudden fragility, so the Doctor helped him down the steps and into the TARDIS.


	16. Silver Lining

They were followed into the TARDIS by two of the hybrids who positioned themselves like sentries on either side of the doorway.

The Protos was already open. Avram was bent over it, apparently doing some reprogramming. A mass of wires formed a flow from the Protos across the floor to the TARDIS control console, where the Doctor was likewise busy.

"Ah, supervision," grimaced the Doctor. "Well, this is the control panel, and that," he said, indicating the Protos, "is the engine. Now please let us work."

Clara and the children entered from an inner doorway. Once again, there was no reaction from the hybrids.

"Clara! What are you doing here?"

"Draco said something that spooked me," she replied.

"Ah yes, he does that now and then," laughed the Doctor.

"It's the Prophet Programme, known affectionately around here as the Riddle Chip," said Avram without looking up. "Keeps us on our toes."

"He said something about a silver man falling with the stars and being taken from the world."

Avram now stood up. "Well, I have silver hair."

"And I arrived in a silver suit," said the Doctor.

"Clara, we must do what we must do," comforted Avram, "and Draco's words will make sense in due time."

"What are you doing, Doctor?" asked Gog.

"Can't tell you in the present company," whispered the Doctor.

"And don't you only have twenty minutes?" asked Clara.

"I've slowed time down in here, very slightly," the Doctor whispered, "so we actually have about an hour. Didn't want to make it too obvious."

He looked at the monitor. The remaining six Sons of Terror looked a bit lost.

"Clara, how about you take some food and have breakfast with the golden boys. Looks like they might need some cheering up. And we need a bit of a distraction. If they ask who you are, tell them you're the caterer."

"Oh, thanks!"

"But you like cooking."

She made a face.

"Well, it's either that or tell them you're the entertainment and start singing. It's not my fault Protos is so patriarchal. You'd hate Gallifrey!"

"I'm worried about you," she insisted.

"Don't worry about me," replied the Doctor. "I'll be fine. This is Avram's moment to shine."

Before long, the monitor showed Clara and the brothers all seated at the banqueting table, which was carefully placed between the TARDIS and the Circle. They were enjoying sandwiches and tea under the emotionless watch of the Air Marshal.

"Avram, do you have any means of contacting Egregeros?"

"Certainly, I do now, the same way I communicate with Draco."

"Could you somehow get him and the dynamite donkeys into a tunnel near the surface? Presumably the troops won't notice the difference. So far they haven't shown much initiative."

"I'll try."

"Gog and Bel, there's something I need you to fetch for us from upstairs."

.

.

The lift was halfway to the core of the planet and the gravity strength had begun to decrease. Egregeros discreetly touched the control panel and the elevator slowed to a halt.

"Why … have we stopped?" asked the nearest trooper.

"I'm not sure. It might be a gravity anomaly."

He pressed another button and the lift began to move again, but in the opposite direction.

"We should be there in about five minutes. I don't suppose you want some music?"

.

.

Gog and Bel exited the TARDIS and began to make their way around the side of the room to the stairs. Clara spotted them, stood up and shouted, "Anyone for cookies?"

They looked at her blankly.

"Well then, how about a song?"

It seemed like their new taste buds were more interested in cookies.

"The need for such sustenance is weakness," commented the Air Marshal. "Your time is running out, Doctor."

After a couple of minutes, Bel appeared with a large rolled up plan sticking out of her coat. She made a pleading face at Clara.

Clara stood on her chair and began to sing.

.

.

Bel handed the plan to the Doctor.

"Are you sure about this, Avram?"

"It's a perfect plan, and I thank you for your wisdom. And your cunning."

"What about the cost?" asked the Doctor.

"There is no other way. This is clearly my own ordeal, Doctor. And besides, who wants grandchildren who behave this badly to come and stay?"

The Doctor unrolled the scroll and held it up to Avram, who activated a switch inside the Protos. A white beam scanned the plans.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Doctor." Avram held out his arms and they embraced. "I've only known you for a few days, and I feel that you are the greatest friend I have ever known. Will we meet again?"

"I'm sure we shall. If one moves in these circles, it's a very small world."

Avram made a pained face.

"Sorry."

"There's just one more thing, Doctor," said Avram with a wry smile as he lowered himself into the Protos.

"What's that?"

"You made a comment about sons who steal their father's keys and take his vehicle for a joy ride."

"Yes?"

"Did you not steal your TARDIS?"

He winked as his face disappeared beneath the upper hemisphere.

The Doctor smiled, then suddenly looked around.

"Wait, where's Gog?"

Bel looked sheepish. "He said there was something he had to do."

.

.

The golden doors of the elevator opened and Egregeros led the five bomb bearing troopers into a tunnel lit by gold worms.

"Follow me. We are almost at the core."

The party moved along the tunnel into a chamber.

"What do we do now?" asked Egregeros.

"I will communicate with the Air Marshal. The bombs are to be placed to take advantage of the tunnel networks. Then the detonation code will be transmitted."

Egregeros grabbed one of the troopers by the neck, and ended up grappling with all five.

.

.

The Doctor exited the TARDIS and asked for it to be moved to the platform. The six golden sons lifted it without effort and deposited it next to the communications frame.

"Where is Avram?" demanded the Air Marshal.

"He's just making some final adjustments to my work. He's great at fixing bugs."

The platform levitated into the Chamber of the Father. Clara remained downstairs with the troopers and the sons of Avram.

"We're ready for the handover now," announced the Doctor.

"Bring Avram that we might scan his brain."

"Certainly. I guess that's the next best thing. He should at least be able to give you a few tips."

The Doctor entered the TARDIS. It dematerialised and reappeared near the stairs. The Protos remained where the TARDIS had been, a great golden orb sitting on the floor. The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS.

"What is this?" asked the Air Marshal.

"This is the Protos," answered the Doctor. "Avram is inside it, so you cannot scan his brain."

One of the ten Cyberleaders spoke up.

"Air Marshal, recent communications indicate that the bombs are not at the core of the planet."

The ley lines on the Protos suddenly changed position, and the sphere started to rotate and hover. The network of lines on the floor and ceiling began to glow white.

"You have deceived us, Doctor," stated the Air Marshal. "We shall destroy…"

"What? What shall you do?"

The face of the Air Marshal moved from the beam.

"Just give us a minute! This thing's not that easy to fly, you know. I've tried it myself."

The Air Marshal's face appeared once again. This time it was veined with gold and he was vomiting white fluid. He fell from sight, and Gog's face appeared in the beam.

"Gog, what are you doing in there?"

Gog held up the golden Cybermat.

From the TARDIS door, Bel was beaming. The Doctor was not.

"Well done, but get out of there! Now!"

.

.

In the Great Hall, Clara and the remaining brothers were sitting under guard at the table. There was a scraping sound from across the room. It was Avram's silver chair, the one upon which he had played the lyre. It made its way in fits and starts along the floor, then tumbled up the stairs.

.

.

The Protos was now in full rotation. It was no longer gold but a fiery silver, the same colour as the lines on the floor and the ceiling. Avram's chair appeared from the stairwell, shot across the room and flattened itself against the surface of the spinning orb.

"We are under attack," announced the Cyberleader. "Prepare for detonation."

One by one, the beams disappeared, and one by one, Clara's guards were dragged up the stairwell. They too were crushed against the surface of the Protos, flattened to become parts of its enlarging diameter. The two troopers exited from the TARDIS towards the Doctor, but met a similar fate.

Clara came running up the stairs, followed by Hieros. "What's happening?

"No! No!" shouted Hieros. He ran towards the Protos, but there was nothing he could do.

"Can't deactivate it now," said the Doctor. "Stand back!"

The centre of the ceiling opened and the room was filled with showers of broken glass. The Protos lifted itself through the hole into the observation deck.

.

.

In the cavern, Egregeros was still wrestling with the hybrids, who had now been ordered to kill him. Red countdown lights began to flash on each of the five bombs.

"You are doomed," announced one of the troopers.

Suddenly, all five of them were lifted to the ceiling and enveloped in the tangled, glowing chains. The cavern was filled with showers of sparks. The figures were held there while any silver colour remained, then dropped to floor. Even the bombs were now gold. The red lights were no longer flashing.

Egregeros made for the lift.

.

.

In the learning hall, Draco lifted his head, then his arms, and the entire hall began to quake. The terrified children started to whimper.

"Don't be afraid," said Sophia. "This is a great day."

.

.

Those in the encampment watched as the ziggurat raised itself out of the ground with a great rumble, displacing huge mounds of dirt and tumbling the seed-pods out of its way in the process. The golden tower gleamed in the morning sun.

A boy ran towards them out of the smoking field. His face, clothes, arms and feet were blackened, and he carried a thick, golden serpent across his shoulders.

"This is the best day ever!" he shouted.

Thunders came from the other direction, and the Cyberships approached to join the craft of the Air Marshal, which was still hovering over the encampment.

.

.

The top of the ziggurat opened like an origami flower, splitting into six equal parts. The eleven Cyberships were now circling the ziggurat, rotating like a wheel. The Protos lifted slowly into the sky and stopped at the very centre of the enormous formation.

Hieros lifted his hand towards it, and a golden tear ran down his cheek. "It should have been me!"

"Brave heart, Hieros. That sort of love is the only kind of gold that ever mattered to your father. It's your turn now."

The scout ship lifted awkwardly off the ground and smashed into the Protos, shaping itself around the rough, silver surface. The gravity field was multiplying, and the light was increasingly difficult to behold.

Draco and Egregeros appeared from downstairs.

"Ah!" said the Doctor. "Just in time. Avram dedicated a song for this momentous event." Something in the robot's chest activated, and a pop song began to play.

Clara laughed. "Everybody wants to rule the world. Couldn't have picked a better one myself."

The Cybership pilots obviously realised they were in danger and began to pull away. To the sounds of Tears For Fears, the great engines strained against the targeted, selective gravity of the Protos. The smallest ship, the source of the scout, began to shudder, then it tilted and careered with a guttural roar towards the glowing sphere. After a deafening crunch it was entirely flattened. There was a great cheer from the encampment.

Of course, that increased the power of the Protos once again. One of the great ships managed to pull away and began its escape to the cloud. One by one, each of the remaining ships, with the deep creaks and groans of twisting metal, was crushed against the Protos, which was now the size of a considerable meteor.

As if to say goodbye, the silver globe elevated further then paused high in the sky. The Doctor struck the pose of a magician after the accomplishment of a spectacular illusion.

"Welcome to New Shabar!"

"That's not a planet," observed Clara.

"Well, not yet," said the Doctor.

The Protos suddenly shot into the cloud. The dark mouth was filled with lightning. It shrank and shrank until it vanished into the brightness of the horizon.

"When will we see our father again?" asked Jason.

"It might be another thousand years. Who knows?"

"Then we must prepare for his return," said Hieros. "Where shall we start?"

The Doctor rolled up his sleeve and looked at the glyphs on his arm.

"Only two lines to go. I have an idea for the perfect beginning."


	17. Beautiful Feet

"This is the journal of Avram, King of Protos, Craftsman of Dynasties, Fashioner of Worlds.

Since destroying the contingent of Cybermen which threatened my planet, I travel the frontiers in search of minerals and metals suitable for the completion of New Shabar.

It is hoped that my seven sons will be trees of life growing from the ordeal which led to the establishment of this world. So far, my hopes have been realised.

Due to the distortion of time within the Protos, and with the data available to me, I was able to watch the first decades of their efforts.

The wedding of Jason and Sophia was wonderful. I did transmit my heartfelt apologies. The problem of telling the seven identical sons apart was solved by the Doctor, who suggested the delegation of what he referred to as "Clan Tartans." For my sons, he provided a variety of what are known as "kilts." Although these strange garments are foreign to us, the seven boys did look remarkable on the day. They have since claimed these patterns as the signs of their houses.

For their heroism, the histories of Tob, Tor, Tol, Dak, Jood, Gog and Bel, were added to the Circle of Artefacts.

Oh, and I must mention that Dak, who gave his physiology to these new lords, was the best man. And Jood, with her beautiful feet, danced up a storm for the bride and groom, accompanied by her brother and sister, who now shelter under the wings of the House of Protos. Gog was given the golden serpent as a trophy. (The Doctor had requested it, but I reminded him that he detests cute robots.)

For his courage, assistance and supreme cunning, the Doctor was given the honorary status of Consulting Court Prophet. For her courage, sense of humour, and the months spent preparing a new generation of teachers, Clara received the honorary title of Lady.

Here are the last images I received before the distances of time and space drew a veil:

I saw the Doctor teaching the children to play cricket.

I saw the six seed-pod ships of the Sons of Terror hovering in formation over the barren fields, their once-feared cables tenderly ploughing, sowing and reaping, ploughing, sowing and reaping, until my fields of golden grain possessed twice the glory they did before.

I saw magnificent trade galleons arriving with plants and trees, silks and spices, and leaving with fabulous tales of the wondrous planet of gold, its gracious and terrible men and women, and their hearts of formidable courage and disarming forgiveness.

I saw the encampment replaced with a golden city, eventually encircling the tower, with springs and rivers flowing into the barrenness of the surrounding plains.

I saw seven planets nurtured by the Lords of Gold. In the words of Draco:

 _The House of Protos, where Hieros became the patron of all those who practice justice with mercy;  
The House of Archaios, the patron of all those who study history and the arts;  
The House of Georgos, the patron of all those who practice agriculture;  
The House of Egregeros, the patron of all those who travel the stars;  
The House of Argyros, the patron of all those who work ingeniously with metal;  
The House of Deimos, the patron of all those who guard the planets;  
and the House of Telos, where Jason became the patron of all those who minister to the sick and dying._

My favourite image was a vision of Jason and Sophia, with the Doctor and Clara, exploring on horseback the abundant hills of Protos, the works of the hands of my sons.

True power is found only in self-sacrifice. Like gold, life is meant to be spent, not hoarded. As long as there are men, there will be Cybermen. We are the children of our deeds, and sometimes these deeds are our children. From every act, righteous or unholy, there are ripples across time and space.

Finally, I saw Draco buried deep in the desert, obediently waiting my return."

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The Doctor and Clara had said their final, tearful goodbyes, and the TARDIS had vanished from the Great Hall.

"Are you going to wear that golden eye forever, Doctor?"

"Well, I had considered never again washing my face."

Clara laughed, then spotted something under the console.

"What's this?"

She lifted up a golden urn.

"Ew. It's Avram's ashes."

"It certainly is!" The Doctor took it, lifted the lid and breathed in the aroma deeply through his nose. Then he pulled out Avram's golden pipe and a sealed note.

"Don't even think about using that pipe," warned Clara with her arms folded.

"Me? Never."

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 _Thanks so much for reading!_  
 _If you enjoyed this story,  
please consider leaving a review. _  
_If you'd like another,  
let me know. _  
_Best regards,_  
 _James Stoker_


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